


Truly Existing

by Musicalrain



Series: Truly Existing [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon, Drama, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Interspecies Romance, M/M, Multiple Pairings, Non-Canon Party Member(s), Romance, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-02-26 07:47:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 54
Words: 116,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2643869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musicalrain/pseuds/Musicalrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I get wrapped up in the Blight after being forcefully transported to Thedas, and try, unsuccessfully, to keep it together. Things don't always go as they're supposed to. A self insert into DA:O events. Includes OCs, non-canon party members, and non-Warden cameos of the other Origins. Main pairing: SI (Karie)/M!Tabris (Sloane). AU.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had originally posted this story on FanFiction's website, but per a reader's request I'm also posting and updating the story here on AO3. :D

I wake up screaming and crying – the crying has happened a few times before, but not the screaming. I'm deafening myself with just how ear-piercing those screams are, but that's not what has my attention, rather it is the pain. Pain unlike anything I've felt before, and I've dislocated my jaw a few times, is positively surging through by body enough to blind and numb me to my entire surroundings. I can't pinpoint the source of this burning, frazzling sensation, nor can I make sense of it all. I was just asleep in my bed, but now... now there's only _this_ , this pain, and I cannot even think coherently through the blanketing, suffocating sensation. _Why_ is becoming a prevalent thought though – why is this happening, why is it _still_ happening? It is dark when I open my eyes, but there's a subtle shimmer to it. Something I can't quite explain, and something I'm unsure if it's really there. Am I hallucinating all of this? Am I stuck in a nightmare again? Have I slept walked and hurt myself by accident? The sleep walking and the chronic nightmares haven't happened since I was small, but what else am I supposed to think? The pain, it's still there – it's letting up, or I'm burning out, but it's still there.

I don't know how long that finite point of barely thinking, barely comprehending, yet surging with terrible sensation lasts for, but eventually there's nothing my body's focused on other than that darkness with the shimmer. What is it? Why is it there? The shimmer, it seems to be... adhering itself to my very flesh, making it shimmer in turn. It's red, the shimmer, redness in black... like webs. Tendrils of inky red snake up and bind to my skin, tattooing it in a barely discernible shine in this darkness. A glimmer here and there is all I see of this redness time and time again, but it's growing, spreading, covering all I can see of the parts of my body not covered by my pajama pants and t-shirt, and further beyond. I'm covered, I know I am, I can see that much and I wonder if this was my saving grace from that horrible, horrible pain. Did this redness take it away? Or perhaps it's what caused it in the first place, and I can longer feel it as it embeds into my body.

It stops – it stops being just in the line of my sight, and is now completely on me, and with that the darkness fades. The redness on my body brings about the light – sound, touch, smell, it all returns to me jarringly. Suddenly, so suddenly it's a shock to the system, I can _see_ and have all my faculties returned to me in what seems an impossibly fast and consuming moment in time. I'm laying on something hard, cold, and sticky. The smell reminds me of the formaldehyde and slight decay from my old biology labs, and the rankness of stale, foetid water after a flood. My fingers and limbs are stretched straight in a position I'm unaccustomed to be in while I'm supposed to be resting, and my head is positively swimming. And what I see doesn't make _any_ damned sense.

There's three people hovering over me, looking down on me with steely faces that are completely unrecognizable. I have not a fucking clue who these guys are. And they look strange – they have that unstable, off their rocker, look about them. A slight facial tic here and there, too glossy and large of eyes, skin stretched too thin over foreheads, and noses and chins too large for faces. One man is completely bald with his wide, thin lips pulled into a harsh line. Another man's face is covered in something – dark mud or paint drawn in something that looks vaguely like many elaborate Celtic symbols. The last man has a tangle of knots for a beard and hair, and eyes that I swear flash red for a fleeting moment. My mind stutters to a halt, and I haven't the faintest idea how to make sense out of everything I'm seeing – everything that my body is processing.

"It is done," the man with knots for hair breathes in a solemn, raspy, heavily accented voice. He lifts a... shit is that a hole in his hand? The blood, it looks like it's glowing, but that doesn't make any damned sense. There's so much of it though. How can he possibly be bleeding that much and is still standing? And then that hand is pressed against my forehead quicker than I can blink and the world becomes no more than a muted, boundless, painless black.

I wake up though, and wish that I hadn't. The pain is never quite like it was when I had first awoken from sleep, but it is draining and exhausting all the same. Each man, I haven't the faintest idea who they are, mutter the same thing, 'Protect us from Urthemiel,' before touching an impossibly glowing bloody hand to one of my extremities – and then the pain starts anew. It's not like the first time, when the knotty haired man touched me and oblivion overwhelmed me, but it's more like that time when the red shimmering webs adhered themselves to me. The webs are already there though, just faintly visible beneath my skin, and they _ache_ and _burn_ every time one of those men touch me with their disgusting hands. I don't know how long I've been like this, and I don't know how much more of this agony, this torture, I can handle. Why am I not home? Why am I here? What the hell happened to me?

Time... I'm loosing time, all sense of it, and all logical thought. I don't know how many times they mutter those four words to me in their accented, strained voices, but I remember – I remember what, or rather _who_ Urthemiel is, and it doesn't, isn't, possible. Urthemiel is from a fucking _video game_. Have I gone insane? Insanity seems the most reasonable explanation for everything I've experienced so far, and everything I don't have an explanation for.

Convinced that I am that I'm insane, and can't do a single thing about it but idly allow myself to be subject to what surely has to be a psychotic episode, I can't even remotely comprehend the sight and sound of those three men dying in a blaze of flaming medieval-like weapons and arrows. I hear words that aren't those four, words like 'blood mages', 'damnation', and 'prisoner'. My brain sputters at the new information, and my eyes waver from the sight of so much blood and gore. Body parts that I've only seen replicas or pictures of are suddenly splayed before me from those three men's cavities... and their blood, but it no longer glows red.

That impossible, impossible sight is blocked when a stranger's face replaces it – a clean-shaven, olive-tanned man with dark ruddy, sweat stained hair poking out from beneath a leather cap, the strap beneath his chin, and ruby red blood finely splattered across his brow above his honeyed hazel eyes. I'm fixated on the details of his face, as if I've never seen someone with concern in their eyes or kindness in their features before. He's not those men. He's different. Why?

"You're safe," I watch his lips say. "We're Grey Wardens, and we can help you."


	2. Chapter 2

_"You're safe," I watch his lips say. "We're Grey Wardens, and we can help you."_

* * *

I laughed, or maybe I cried, or maybe I did both. Muscles that haven't moved but in tight spasms in my forced prone form ache when my whole body shakes in my hysteria. "You're not real," I hear myself croak out in a voice dry, and nearly unrecognizable as my own. I haven't spoken a single word that wasn't an agonizing scream since I've been home. Since before I went to sleep in the comfort of my bed. How ever long ago that was. "None of this is real."

"The poor thing," I hear a feminine voice that is accented differently than all the others say. "She has blinded herself to reality to escape the horrors she faced here."

"No. It's a game," I look over towards the speaker, and recognize the woman standing in worn medieval leathers as a life-like apparition of one of the video game's characters. "I know who you are," I rasp. "You're Le-Leliana," her name comes out in a stutter. My tongue feels heavy and difficult to move.

I look around towards the others, hardly unbelieving that my insanity has conjured up more things from that game, and say their names when my foggy mind recognizes them for who they are. "You're Alistair," he removes his helmet and I'm even more certain of myself. "You're Morrigan. Flemeth's your ma," I cough on the dry, acrid air. "And that guy's Sten."

"Do you know who I am?" The first man asks me, but, no, I don't recognize him individually.

"You're the Warden," I laugh a dry, dry laugh that's probably more like a wheeze. "You're all in my head," I continue. "I know all your stories. Your life's stories. It's all in my head."

I watch while Leliana says something in French, but it's the wide lips of Morrigan that speak and capture my attention. "If I am not mistaken, it seems these imbecile blood mages captured themselves a seer for some unknown and probably foolish purpose."

I laugh, and it turns into sobbing. Why can't I wake up? I want to be back home. I don't want to play this game.

"I don't want to play this game," I hear myself say aloud. How much have I said aloud? "I don't want to protect them from Urthemiel. They're dead. I saw them die. They're dead. Urthemiel dies. I saw him die. The dragon dies. He always dies."

"Wait," the first man says and puts a hand on my shoulder and I look up at him with unblinking, blurry eyes. "Did you say you saw the Archdemon die?"

"Yes," I reply simply. "He always dies at the end of the game."

"Do you know how?" He asks with an urgency about him.

"Yeah," I wheeze. "With a sword in his head."

"Whose sword?"

"Yours," I lean forward. "If you were a woman, it might've been Alistair. But you're a man – you kill the dragon with a sword. In the head. And you might die. Sometimes the Warden dies in the game. It depends on the choices you make." I cough again. "Only after all the treaties though. You need an army. There's lots of darkspawn." I cough harder, "But I don't want to play this game. It's already in my head. I already know what happens. I don't want to watch it again."

"Blighted bullocks!" He curses and looks over his shoulder at his companions. "Is this even possible?"

"I've read a little on seers," I hear Alistair reply. "They know pieces of the future. They see it."

Morrigan speaks next. "Most can do little else of substance. They are little more than hedge witches."

"You all don't make sense," I mutter. I'm not a seer. I'm not a witch. "I'm a person. And I only know the future until right after the Chantry blows up cause Anders is stupid."

The Warden is silent in front of me with his blood-stained brow furrowed, and it bothers me so I lean forward and poke it. Totally random, but the sight of his brow had garnered all of my attention and wouldn't let it be. I'm far from being stable at the moment. "Which Warden are you?" I ask with my finger still against his forehead, "The Hero is always different. It depends. Lots of things can happen, but the Archdemon always dies after the treaties and everything. You always need an army."

"What do you mean 'lots of things can happen'?"

"Your decisions create the story," I explain. "Some things can't be changed, but there's always different things. Like a... like a web." I frown and repeat my original question. "Which Warden are you?"

"My name is Sloane Tabris," he says, "And do you-"

"Sloane Tabris," I repeat and interrupt him while I put my hand atop his head with a sudden and consuming eureka feeling. "You're an elf!" I exclaim, "From Denerim, and your cousins are Shianni and Soris! I remember them!"

He blinks at me and removes my hand, "You know my cousins?"

I nod, "But I've never met them like you. What is with your family and S's? My family has a lot of K's, but your family has a lot of S's."

"What is your name dear?" Leliana asks me, and she's much closer than she was before.

"Karie," I answer and twist my fingers together. My head is whirling. I don't think I'm making much sense, and I'm talking like an idiot. I'm certain I sound as smart as a pile of rocks. But I'm insane. It doesn't matter. This is all in my head.

"I think she should join us," Sloane announces. "We just took on Bodahn and Sandal, why not one more?"

"And you just killed those guys," I interject. "They hurt me. I don't know what they did, but it hurt a lot. And their blood was glowing."

"According to the experts, they were blood mages." His brow furrows again, "Would you join us in raising that army you keep talking about? We could use the help from someone who says they've already seen it happen."

"Only if you stop crinkling your face," I say and poke his brow again. "Stop that – it bothers me."

He grasps my wrist and moves it from his face, "You have yourself a deal."


	3. Chapter 3

I'm starting to entertain the idea that I might not be insane and that this could actually be real. The clarity in which I'm seeing things is staying, and it always fades in my dreams. Things look so... so life-like. It's hard to believe they're not. The sky, the trees, even the dirt beneath my bare feet. And all that blood I saw in that cabin I was in. There was frightfully red blood everywhere – from those men's bodies, that alter-thing I was laying on, and the blood smeared on the Wardens and companions' weapons and armor. It's all so real-looking, and not clouded over by a haze of pain and fear. When I touch it, it doesn't change; it stays. And it's amazing. If... if I'm not insane, then how the hell did I get here? What the fuck happened to me?

I follow the others back to camp like a lost puppy, but I choose to stay close to Sloane cause he keeps asking me questions. I don't want to answer all of them though. Things are fuzzy, my mind is muddled, and I can't think straight in the first place, but some things I can't spoil for him if this really is reality. I know that, and I try to hold my tongue. Some desperate part of me wants to believe I'm not insane, but I'm not entirely convinced this isn't some elaborate projection of my imagination. Don't schizophrenics truly believe in their own illusions? Couldn't something similar have happened to me? Can't psychosis come about abruptly and seemingly without cause?

I'm roused out of my thoughts when I see a big dog, it looks like a mastiff, running towards us when we enter a clearing with a cart and some tents. Sloane swoops down and pats the dog on the head as he mutters to it, "You watched after our friends, didn't you boy?" He points a thumb at me, "We brought you another person to protect. Do you think you can handle it?"

The dog happily barks, and I look at it with a bit of confusion. "Is he your mabari?" I ask, and the dog barks happily again. The dog looks so real... it's so strange.

"Come," Sloane waves me over. "I'll introduce you to Bodahn and Sandal."

I'm introduced to Bodahn, but Sandal has my attention quickly when I notice his expression – he's looking at me intently. "Shiny," he whispers breezily up at me.

"What's shiny?" I ask him with wide eyes filled with confusion and shock at seeing more characters from the game that are life-like.

"Shiny," he whispers again and reaches out slowly to gently touch one of the faint, shimmering red lines that are webbed just beneath the skin on my forearm.

That soft pressure is enough to disturb those lines and awaken them – the lines all over my body shimmer brightly with an ethereal glow the very same instant pain surges throughout my body enough to make me double over. I yell out in confusion and hurt, and hear gasps and groans from those nearest to me. Next thing I know I'm breathing heavily through my nose, desperate to staunch the burning sensation once I regain some capability to think again, and watch as those lines in my skin flicker and fade to their prior faint state. This whole episode lasts just a few seconds, but it feels like forever.

"What... was that?" Sloane huffs.

"Somethin' those blood mages did," I reply. I'm hunched over on the ground staring at my bared arms with tears welling in my eyes. "It hurts every time they do that."

"I felt it too, a pulling and burning sensation throughout my body." I look up at those words to see Sloane clutching his middle with one arm and a grimace on his face. I'm shocked that whatever this red crap in me is hurt him too, and see him turn his head towards the two dwarves beside us after a moment. "Bodahn, Sandal – are you well?"

"A little shaken up, Warden, but we seem to be fine. Dwarves have a natural magic resistance about them."

"Magic?" I hiccup. What the fuck is going on? "This is blood magic – please tell me this isn't real. Please, I want to go home," I bury my face into my palms while my emotions surge. "This isn't real. Please. This can't be real."

"Well, well, well," I hear Morrigan drawl and look through the hot, fat tears stuck to my eyelashes to see her walking towards us with determined steps. "That was quite the spectacle. An aura of pain, if I'm not mistaken. A small one at that."

"What is this aura of pain?" Sloane asks bemusedly while he slowly moves to stand.

"You had felt it, did you not? I would imagine you know it quite well," she rolls her eyes. "But I gather that you wish to know this aura's cause? Tis a skill common amongst blood mage and Reaver alike."

"Those men did this to me," I rasp. "It... it was dark, and they... I'm not sure what happened, but these red... webs have been in my skin ever since, and they hurt when they touched them."

"Blood magic," I hear Alistair sneer as he and Leliana come to investigate what had happened too. "Some sort of forbidden ritual, maybe. I've never heard of such a thing though."

Morrigan rolls her eyes again. "I'd imagine the Chantry only instilled a fear of magic in their Templars, and did not bother themselves with teaching the intricacies of the Fade, even demonic in nature."

"Are you saying you're a blood mage?" His eyes flash in sudden anger.

"I am not," Morrigan spits, "I was _educated_ on all aspects of the Fade and its inhabitants. Tis better to know one's enemy than be ignorant of it. Though I doubt those Chantry fools allow the mages they've culled to have an understanding of all they face daily being who they are. Twould be foolish to face a demon without knowing it for what it is."

"Enough," Sloane interjects with a cutting swipe of his hand in the air, "Morrigan," he says her name as if it was very difficult for him to do, "do you know what those blood mages did to our seer here?"

She squints her unnaturally yellow eyes at me critically before snapping her arm forward and hovering a white-ish glowing hand above me. "Those red 'webs' are blood, and they house a dark energy. I would surmise that this blood is not her own, as it seems it was forced within?" She asks with a raised brow, and I nod even through my uncertainty and confusion. "An altered Reaver ritual perhaps?" She questions aloud and than shakes her head. "It has great power regardless of what ritual brought this about. But this is all pointless – the girl obviously has no control over it."


	4. Chapter 4

That alter was sticky with blood, and there's blood coated all over me, but mostly on my back as it seems I was laying in it. Whose blood though, I don't know and I don't want to know. I can only imagine what a nightmare like this would have as it's source. I'd never seen so much blood on me before. It's pungent and disgusting, just like these lines beneath my skin. I feel sick to my stomach at it all. I have no idea what's going on. What happened. Even with explanations, I'm lost. Then again, how can anything possibly make sense when I'm in this state?

Leliana led me over to her tent after I finally got my feet beneath myself again. I couldn't listen to anything Morrigan had to say anymore, and she's got some choice things to say about it too. She knows more about blood magic and this kind of shit than Alistair, and she loves to rub it in. But she was also looking at me funny while jabbing at the Templar. I felt like I was under a microscope with the way she was looking at me with an unnatural gleam in her preternatural gaze.

I'm brought out of my thoughts jarringly when Leliana clucks her tongue while she rifles through her meager things, "I am not sure if I have anything that would fit you well. Perhaps we should ask Sloane?" She looks up at me from her crouched place on the ground holding her bag, "All I have are worn Chantry robes. Not the best choice to be wearing while avoiding a horde of darkspawn." She looks back at her bag briefly, "Perhaps I should have packed more. Hmm."

"I'm – I'm okay," I say in turn. "I just need some sleep." And then maybe I'll wake up from this hallucination and find myself back in my bed? Maybe I haven't completely lost my marbles? "I haven't slept since... since before what ever happened to me," I continue with a longing plain in my voice for some God-honest rest and the clarity I desire to gain from it. "I always blacked out from the pain, or they knocked me out with a touch. I feel... I'm exhausted," I confess.

"Oh mon," she shakes her head. "You must change and clean up some though. How ever will you rest properly covered in filth?"

I frown when she takes my mood silence for assent, and she bodily drags me from her tent. I'll go along with everything, this insanity, for now. What else can I do? Curl up in a ball and bawl my eyes out? I've already done that, and it got me no where fast.

Sloane gives me a set of his clothes, and apparently they're still unworn since he had just bought them from Bodahn hours ago. They're all a little low on supplies, he explains, because they've just narrowly escaped Ostagar with nothing more than their weapons and armor. Even Sten is still unarmored with nothing more than a spare short sword for his use. Sten in-person creeps me out, to be honest. I don't like the way he regards everything and he's just too quiet. Unnaturally quiet. He looks more qunari-like in person though, and he's a good two feet taller than me. I'm a bit afraid of him. He looks like he could kill me quite easily, even without that sword. His face is so stony too. I'm not even sure just how hostile he is either, or just how much I should really be afraid of him.

Leliana lets me use her tent to change, and says that it's probably best if we burn my old clothes. They're not salvageable, it seems. And I feel almost naked afterwards, even in the strange, slightly itchy, medieval men's tunic and trousers I'm wearing. We had to burn _all_ my clothes. I don't think I need to explain that. So much blood. We even had to burn the cloth I used to clean up. While I was changing and cleaning myself I noticed something strange though. All my scars are gone, and my body has wasted away to where I'm little more than skin and bones. I'm emaciated, dehydrated, and yet I'm oddly not hungry or thirsty. And just why are my scars gone? Even the little one on my pinky finger from when it got cut from a broken glass. Does blood magic heal? I think I remember something like that... Reavers can do that too, maybe. Just what did those men do to me? Why would my mind create something so... so strange and make it all seem so real? For what purpose would it have me be tortured and healed by strangers that I've never seen before in my life...?

Later, after I'm changed because Leliana pushed me to, I'm quiet while we're sitting by the fire, my food untouched, and I'm just watching the flames dance and crackle. I'm trying to make sense of everything. It's not working very well. For instance, the food, even if I were hungry, I would not eat. I'm vegan by choice, and even in my dreams I don't eat animals, dairy, or eggs. The dried meat, cheese, and bread are unappetizing at best. The earthen mug of water is sitting by my feet, and every once in awhile I look at it knowing that I ought to at least drink, but unwilling to. Why would my hallucinations present me with something like this to eat?

"Mon ami?" I turn to see Leliana leaning towards me with a concerned look about her. She probably thinks of me as some kind of charity case. She was a Chantry sister, wasn't she? Wait. I'm being pitied by an imaginary person. That's ridiculous. "Your food is untouched! Are you not famished? You look bereft."

I scowl. "I don't like to eat animals, or animal products." I look away stubbornly and not willing to have a conversation, "I'm not hungry anyway."

"You do not eat meat and cheese?" She asks from beside me. "How unusual," she muses. "You can at least eat the bread, can you not? I will ask our Warden friends for another heel for you." She doesn't give me a chance to tell her no before she stands and wanders over towards Sloane and Alistair, where they're talking in hushed voices. She comes back a short while later with a hopeful smile on her face and a large chunk of bread in-hand, and I eat it so I don't look like I'm ungrateful. The water too. My stomach grumbles after I eat, and I feel queasy. I'm not doing too good, either mentally or physically it seems. And why do I care if I eat or look ungrateful or not? This isn't real. I shouldn't care. I have to remind myself of that.

Sten and Alistair have first watch and so, since Sten makes me uncomfortable, I take the blanket Sloane had given me when he had lent me his clothes earlier, and curl up in a ball beside a tree's trunk and near Leliana's tent. None of the others begrudge me over my sleeping choices, and I'm thankful for that. I need the silence. I need to get a way form those people - people who look so real, but can't possibly be... I need space. I need time to think. It probably takes me a few hours, but I eventually fall into a restless sleep. This time the darkness that overcomes me as I drift off is comfortable and safe, and so unlike anything I've felt in who-knows-how-long.


	5. Chapter 5

_This time the darkness that overcomes me as I drift off is comfortable and safe, and so unlike anything I've felt in who-knows-how-long._

* * *

I wake up and I'm still _here_. Still in this ridiculous hallucination of a too-real video game. I blink and look at my surroundings, but they're the same as the night before. _Why_? I feel tears welling in my eyes at the realization, and before I know it I'm crying silently, helplessly, while I wrap the thread-bare blanket around my shoulders tighter. I lean against the tree I slept beside with a posture belaying the defeat and despair I feel. Why am I still here? Why won't my mind give up on this already? Why am I not home? I thought that maybe this could be real, but I don't want it to be. I can't think of any other reason for this though, other than I've gone insane. I don't want that to be true either. I swipe at my face and bow my head while curling tighter in on myself. I just want to be home. I just want things to go back to normal. My eyes burn and ache with all the crying I've been doing lately, and so stuck in my thoughts that I am, I don't notice that there's someone standing before me until they say my name.

"Karie?" I look up and see the Warden, Sloane, already dressed in some rather worn and ill-fitting leathers with his two long daggers strapped to his back. Why is he the Warden in this world my mind conjured up? He was never my Warden before, and I've never even created him otherwise. I've never seen him before. "Alistair and I have sensed darkspawn entering the area, and we're going to attempt to leave before they're on us."

My eyes widen with that knowledge, and I nod mutely as all my other thoughts fade to the back of my mind with what he's said. I move to stand weakly and on unsteady feet. "What would happen if the darkspawn do attack us?" I ask softly with a nervous wringing of my hands. I'm not above the idea that this illusion can harm me - the vestiges of pain still linger from my experiences so far, and I'd rather not be hurt again. I know the mind is a powerful thing, and reality or not, I can be hurt.

"Ideally?" He brings a hand to his chin in consideration before he continues, "You, Bodahn and Sandal would be in the cart while we kill them before they can do any real damage... There's a good chance any of you could be injured though," he finishes quietly with concern briefly flashing in his hazel eyes. "Morrigan's mother and Bodahn seem to be of the idea that it's safest to travel with Wardens during a Blight. And perhaps that's true - we'll try our hardest to keep you all out of harm's way, and I believe we have the means to."

"Thanks," I say with a note of uncertainty. "Where are we going then?"

"We're off to find the Dalish first," he gestures with his hands as he speaks, and motions for me to follow him while he walks towards Bodahn's cart. "I'd overheard a few of the villagers speaking of a tribe not too far from here. Apparently the Chasind would trade with them."

"You do find the Dalish in the Brecillian," I tell him while I'm huddled up in my blanket, cold due to the fresh dew on the sparse vegetation I'm walking on barefoot and needing a warmth about me regardless – I still feel so drained despite the sleep I got. "The Keeper will need some help before he'll honor the treaty though. There's an... infection spreading around his people."

"Is it contagious?" Sloane asks with a raised brow and a troubled look.

"Only..." I hesitate. How much do I say? I have to be careful, since I'm stuck in this reality... this figment of reality. I don't know what to do. Do I play along with this, or not? Do I tell him everything, or not? I make up my mind and answer purposefully vague due to my uncertainties about... well, everything. "Only through direct contact."

"We'll have to be careful then," he frowns. "I'm not sure how much help we can be with an infection though."

"You'll offer to help him find an ingredient he needs to make a cure. It's hard to get, and too dangerous for his hunters," I say while watching the dew stick to my feet as I walk. I'm trying to distract myself, but he keeps talking. "Everything works out in the end," I sigh and hope that's the end of this conversation. I just want to be left alone, honest.

"Yes, you seem quite certain of that," he turns to me with a seriousness etched into his face that forces me to look up to him and keep his gaze and listen to him. "You keep saying things to that effect."

I nod and answer the unspoken question. "You end the Blight in about a year – the fastest it's ever done."

He breathes in harshly through his nose and pauses a moment before he concedes, "With your help no doubt."

I take a moment to think about that. In the game you control the Warden – essentially helping them in making the decisions needed to end the Blight in the game's story. And without someone to help the Warden, the game wouldn't ever be played. Then the Blight wouldn't end, it would always just _be_. In this world my mind has created, this reality though it's not _real_ , it's not the reality I know to be true, I'm helping the Warden. I'm not controlling him, just guiding him in a way that's probably at least comparable to playing the character within the restrictions the game developers created. My psychosis has inserted me into the game.

"Yeah, with my help," I say quietly, and then a thought occurs to me. "You'd said that you'd help me," I meet his gaze steadily. "I'll help you too – I can make sure you won't get hurt or die. If you'll listen to what I tell you."

"And what is that?"

"I'll have things to say whenever shit hits the fan. It'll happen a lot." I smile weakly, if it could even be called that. Who knows how long I'll be stuck here. Might as well try and keep things from going bad. I don't want to be hurt any more, and if it means playing along with this insanity, then I'll do it. I don't know what else to do, or what I can do. I look up at him and study the face of the future Hero of Ferelden – at least in this portrayal of the game. He looks far from a hardened warrior, but he will be by the end of this, that's for sure. "You can do this, you know. I've seen it happen," I reassure tentatively. He still has that troubled look about him.

"Encouraging words from a seer, I suppose there's no second guessing that," he too smiles weakly, though his is more nervous than anything else.

"Your mother was a Night Elf, wasn't she? Adaia? She even helped the Wardens too, if I remember right, and she taught you how to fight." I continue to try and be encouraging, "You learned from one of the best – you'll make her proud."

He blinks at me owlishly with shock on his features, "I don't think I'll ever get used to you doing that," he mutters.

"Doing what?" I ask while brushing the dried tear tracks from earlier off of my cheeks.

"Just... knowing so much." He shakes his head, "Do you know of the past too?"

I shrug, "I just know about this time, is all. And not a whole lot of it either. I have no idea what's going on in the other countries right now."

"Hmm," he hums in thought and then looks around. "I think we're all settled. We should get a start before the darkspawn get any closer to finding us."

I look to the cart and ask, "Can I sit in there? I don't have any shoes."

Sloane and Bodahn allow me to sit in the cart without much of a fuss. We move quickly afterwards and start heading to the east and trying to out maneuver the 'spawn. I look out at the wilderness and the dirt trail we're traveling on. It's nothing like home. It's not home.

"You seem well today," Leliana comments to me from where I'm sitting on a crate in Bodahn's cart and she's walking beside at a leisurely pace despite our urgency in leaving the area. The ox pulls this thing slow.

Her simple comment gets my attention despite my sombre mood. "What do you mean?" I ask in return.

"You have been speaking in full sentences, and more clearly, if I may say so. I also may have spied a small smile on your face when you were speaking with Warden Sloane earlier too," one corner of her lips raises in a smirk, or maybe a slight smile. Yeah, she's a bard too. Can't forget she's a medieval James Bond. She probably eavesdrops on everything. It's likely a survival tactic she uses, even here. And I _know_ she uses it too.

"Oh," I purse my lips unsure of what else to say. My mind's still stuck on the thought that bard's are the Thedas version of special intelligence agents. She could kill me quite easily too, couldn't she? Actually all of these people I'm around are all very, very deadly. That's an uncomfortable thought too. Could this dream kill me? Can I die here? I think I'd heard something once that if you die in your dreams you die in real life. I know that's complete bullshit, but the idea still bothers me. I'm going to die in my own psychotic imaginings, aren't I?

"I have a few questions, if I may?" Leliana tilts her head and drags me back from my distractions.

"I'm not very interesting," I mumble. "You don't have to try and talk to me."

"Why would you say that?!" She gasps. "You are the first seer I have ever met - I would say that would make you quite interesting and good for conversation, non?"

I frown. "I'm not a 'seer'," I use their word they keep calling me. I've heard it before though in the second game. I remember what it is here. Someone with foresight - like Alistair and Morrigan were explaining before.

"What are you then, if not a seer?" She pushes for information, and I refuse to cave to her kind voice and questions.

Maybe I should change the topic... "Can we talk about something else? I don't want to talk about myself."

She doesn't say anything for a long moment, and I don't know why, so I look at her out of the corner of my eye. She's looking at me like a puzzle to be solved. "You are still blinding yourself, are you not?," she mutters. "You have already said much about yourself, mon ami."


	6. Chapter 6

I'm laying in the cart staring up at the sky – and I have been for the last few hours. I have nothing else to do... other than think. I've been thinking too much lately. More more than is common, for sure. I'm usually not so introspective. People with chronic foot-in-mouth disease aren't very introspective. Regardless, I'm so very confused. And, if I'm honest, scared shitless.

We're following that road that leads from Lothering to the Brecilian forest, and nothing else of note has happened. If anything of note did happen, I'm not sure what I'd do. We're avoiding the darkspawn thanks to the Wardens' senses and Morrigan's shape-shifting to fly as an animal and scout ahead. I stopped talking to Leliana, but once I did that all I had was my thoughts. I can't even think clearly anymore. It might be the starvation, but still. Nothing makes any damned sense.

"This sucks," I mumble aloud. "Everything's just a big pile of shit."

I hear a clanking and a soft 'oomph' at the same time the cart shakes due to an impact near my feet. I lean up on my elbows to see Alistair waver on his feet with a hand on the cart as he tries to right himself.

"Are you okay?" I ask with a furrowed brow and a little confusion. He's clumsier than I'd thought he'd be – can't even walk straight. Was there a pothole or something?

"Sorry! Sorry," he squeaks and flushes in embarrassment. "I'd just, uh, never heard a lady say such a thing before."

'Big pile of shit' made him trip up? What? That's just silly. Now my brows raise in question, "Uh... That wasn't even that bad."

"Maker, yes, I've heard worse," he shakes his head. "Dockhands have the filthiest mouths... But that's not what I meant. I've just, uh, you're a lady and I, um, didn't expect that. From you."

"Uh huh," I mutter sarcastically. "I can swear worse, you know." I purse my lips, "And I'm not a lady. Not even close." I'm pretty sure noble ladies here are way more crazier than I am anyways. I mean, I'm obviously crazy, but just about every noble lady here is a sadistic bitch with a God-complex.

"If you're not a lady, then what are you?" He smirks, "You don't look very manly." He's... teasing me?

I sit up. "Not what I meant," I resist the urge to roll my eyes, unlike Morrigan when talking to Alistair. "I'm – I'm a commoner," is that the right word? "A peasant. Not a lady."

"I'm a peasant too," he says with a smirk still about him. Not really – peasant raised, but not really. "Does that not make me a man?"

"You're not a lord," I can't help it and roll my eyes now. "I'm a woman, not a lady." I scrunch my nose and accuse, "You're teasing me on purpose."

He chuckles, "You've seen right through me my lady."

"Ugh. One of my sisters does the same thing to me," I swipe a hand down my face in exasperation.

"Sisters?" He asks quietly and I look at him suddenly with his abrupt change in tone – from playful to... rather sad sounding. Maybe concerned. "You have family?"

I fold my legs towards my chest, "Yeah... I d-don't," I stutter, "know where they are... The last thing I remember is sleeping in my bed at home. I'm not sure what happened," that's putting it mildly. They're still sane, and I'm not. I'm lost in my mind.

"You don't think the blood mages-" he cuts himself off mid-sentence before taking a breath and starting again. "I'm sorry. That was insensitive of me."

"It's okay," I say quietly. My scatterbrained thoughts are threatening to overwhelm me again.

There's an uneasy quiet between us until Alistair coughs lightly and I look to him again. "Um, I don't know how to ask this, but... you're a seer – you didn't see...?"

"I only know some things," and I'm not really a seer, "but I don't know anything about my own future, or my family's."

"That's... rather unfortunate," he frowns. "I don't know my family, so I suppose I can't relate, but perhaps once the Blight is said and done... maybe you can try to find them?"

"Maybe," I agree. I just hope by that point I'll be sane and back home anyways, and I won't have to figure out how to get myself out of this illusion my psychosis created. How long can this possibly last for anyways?

We're starting to enter the Brecillian forest now, and I look up at the canopy of trees when the cart beings to bounce slightly on the uneven terrain. Everything's so real. It's so... unexplainable. The trees... the way the lights play on the shadows that the leaves create, or the sudden coolness of indirect light, and the way the soft breeze ruffles my knotted, matted hair. It's so believable, but I know better than to be tricked by it. This is all a game.

"Something isn't right," Alistair announces from beside me, and the hard edge to his voice breaks me out of the daze I had suddenly lapsed into. "Darkspawn!" he shouts, and I freeze – everyone's unsheathing their weaponry, and the cart stops with a thump when the ox pulls short. Will I die, and will death restore my reality?

Bodahn and Sandal scurry off of the driver's bench and into the back of the cart that I've been sitting and laying in, and huddle near me despite the weird shit that blood magic did to me, and the danger that I am. They're absolutely terrified, if their pale faces and round, large eyes are any indication.

It's not darkspawn though... it's Blight wolves. Those wolves look so, so mutated. Bizarre and gross at the same time. Their fur is slimy and dark with bones and flesh a crude, hanging mass around their frames. A whole pack of them... They're not digital, and they're much faster than what they seemed like on the TV. I watch in horrified fascination as one of the wolves leaps and pushes Sloane hard onto the trail. The wolf's jaws and unnaturally long teeth snap at the Warden's face, but is stopped from grabbing hold due to one of Sloane's daggers pushed up against the base of it's neck that's working slowly, and what looks like with a lot of effort, through the tendons and muscle.

I swing my gaze around wildly – nearly deafened due to the shouts, growls, and other sounds of battle, and see Leliana shooting with her long bow incredibly fast into the wolves before they can gain on the position she seems to have made with Morrigan near the front of the cart by the ox. Alistair is working his way towards Sloane, with one wolf's jaws clamped tight around his calf. The wolf is shaking its head as it tries to work past his armor, and Alistair tries to get it off with his shield. Sten is shouting unintelligibly using his fists and his too small sword against three of the wolves at once. He's not wearing armor and he's already bloody. Very bloody. Shit. I look back to the Warden worriedly, and see that Randall, Sloane's mabari, has made his way to his master with another wolf snapping at his hind legs. I feel tears spring to my eyes when I watch the mutant wolf latch onto Randall's side with a loud snarl, and tackle him away from Sloane's prone form. Sloane has another wolf clawing away at his middle now too.

"Bad doggy!" Sandal shouts from beside me. I turn my head and feel an instantaneous coldness crawl up my spine at what I see. There's a fucked up mean looking wolf half-way into the cart. Its saliva is black, as black as its deadened eyes, and it just... it just looks way worse than any Blight wolf I ever saw in the game. I'm scared, so scared I'm barely drawing in enough breath, when it scrapes all the way onto the cart with a threatening snarl of success. Without fully acknowledging what I'm doing, I move in front of Sandal the moment the wolf leaps at the boy.

Pain... that's all I feel. Red tendrils that look oh so much like the faintly shimmering marks embedded into my flesh seep into my vision at the same time I'm focused so intently it _hurts_ on the wolf with its disgusting teeth digging into my forearm. Somewhere far off in a corner of my mind I realize that I must be screaming, but all I see is that red and feel the fiery lance of pain shoot up those webs that have tortured me so. The wolf releases me abruptly with a whimper – and then there's an arrow through its neck. As it falls I grab a hold of its slick, bloody coat with my uninjured hand without conscious thought for what I'm doing. Those lines in my skin glow brighter while the wolf's body shrivels into nothing more than fur clinging to half-exposed bones. I'm watching, feeling sick and lightheaded with the pain, as the flesh in my torn forearm mends itself together with every quick pulse of those red webs.

When I release the wolf the lines of blood magic fade into the faint shimmer I'm used to seeing them as. I look up at the rest of the wolves – the battle is over. Every wolf has been killed. I notice there's an unnatural silence and that everyone is staring at me – everyone, even Sten, is looking at me like I'm about to spontaneously grow a second head or something.

"I am certain of it now – those blood mages have grafted abilities akin to that of a reaver into our seer," Morrigan announces clearly as the flames from her hands die out slowly. Her staff is laying by her feet, and there's an impaled wolf corpse on one end.

"We'll discuss this later!" Sloane groans in pain from the ground he's collapsed on, "Bodahn – where are our injury kits?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Note**  
> I'm using the term reverse racism in loose reference to the pop culture phrase that came about in the '60s here in the US and not a literal definition of the term. Reverse racism is a "theorized condition in which discrimination against a dominant racial group in a society has taken place."

_"I am certain of it now – those blood mages have grafted abilities akin to that of a reaver into our seer," Morrigan announces clearly as the flames from her hands die out slowly. Her staff is laying by her feet, and there's an impaled wolf corpse on one end._

* * *

"What do you mean I'm a Reaver?" Everyone who was injured - Sloane, Alistair, Randall, and Sten, quickly patched themselves up before we moved to find a place to set up a hasty camp near a small stream. Those wolves took out chunks of flesh and Morrigan only knows a little bit of healing. She keeps grousing that her mother was a better healer than her, though she is healing the others willingly. And I'm helping her since I mentioned that I know a little bit of what to do since I am- was an assistant to a... non-magical healer. I couldn't sit there and not do anything while they're all bleeding and in pain, illusion or not. Leliana's getting the supplies while me and Morrigan take off armor before removing any dirt and... fangs from all the warrior's wounds. I remember just before... whatever happened to me... a friend of mine complaining about her ER rotation and how she's not looking forward to trauma - degloving, burns, head injuries. Well, I'm getting a lesson on that now. There's so much blood. I'm almost used to the sight now. But... I'll never see my friends again, will I? Well, maybe I will, but it'll be in the psych ward.

I'm holding a cloth to Alistair's leg while Morrigan digs a broken fang from Alistair's calf with her long nails when I asked that question about the reaver-ness. Probably a bad time, but I'm all out of sorts. And I need to talk about something - I know focusing on your pain is a bad thing. Talking and listening helps distract you from what you don't want to be focusing on.

"Do not be so simple minded as to not understand,"Morrigan sniffles her answer. "Twas a fact proven when you had made an aura of pain – a powerful one at last. It had affected everyone over a large area - ally and foe. I, however, nullified your aura on all others of our party with my own healing aura. It was not comfortable, although I must say it made killing those foul beasts much simpler with them crippled at our feet."

She pulls out the fang with a cruel smile of satisfaction on her lips the same time Alistair grunts and bites down hard onto the leather of his glove. I move the cloth up higher to mop up the blood while she drips health poultice onto the gushing, ragged wound. I can't look away, even as Morrigan starts talking again. "As for when you healed yourself – that is a skill best known as devour. It is when your own life source takes in the energies from another's to heal yourself and replenish your strength. I have only a literary understanding of the skill, so that is the extent of my knowledge of it. I cannot tell you more to sate that curiosity about you." She gives me a scathing glance, "Now can you stop with these inane questions? I do not wish to expend my energies healing these fools any longer than I must." She brings up a faintly blue glowing hand to the coagulating blood on Alistair's leg and leaves it there until a pink, slightly scabbed and pitted piece of skin is visible when I rub off the excess blood. Morrigan's almost being civil with me. I wonder why?

It takes some time, but eventually everyone is healed up – even the mabari. They're still tired though, but Sloane insists that we don't lose any time and continue on. If we don't hurry the darkspawn could overwhelm us. I'm afraid... I'm afraid of this reality my mind has placed me in.

"Do you mind if Randall sits with you? He's tuckered out," Sloane asks while he hefts his brown-furred mabari into the back of the cart with the dog's claws digging into the wood. He didn't even give me a chance to answer.

"I guess," I narrow my eyes at him half-heartedly.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. You like him. You were being very gentle with him when you were tending to his wounds," Sloane smiles a little.

I just shake my head and pet Randall when he pads over to me. He sits by my feet with a heavy plop. "You're not like how I thought you'd be," I think aloud, still petting the mabari when the cart starts to move with a jerk of the ox pulling on the reins.

"Me or Randall?" Sloane asks and I look over to him while he walks along to the side of the cart with a slight limp and one arm held too close to his body. Sten was injured worse than him, but it was still bad.

I'm starting to regret my thoughtlessness in saying that aloud, since now I have to try to explain. "You – you're not as angry or upset with humans as I thought you'd be. Cause of the way you grew up." It doesn't make sense to me when I think about it. I'd always thought that the City Elf Origin would've been more angry with the world. Maybe Sloane's reactions are indications that this whole place isn't real?

He purses his lips, "There are a fair bit of humans I don't care for," he admits, "but I'm not daft enough to believe all humans are the same. My mother held the Wardens in high esteem, and I still haven't decided what to think of everyone else."

"Who?" I ask suddenly curious.

"You, Leliana or Morrigan," he tics off his fingers with a thoughtful look about him. "We're working together at least, and it wouldn't do anyone good if I hated all of you on principle. You're not the humans I hate, and I haven't seen you judge me for my ears," he answers honestly with the ghost of a self-depreciating smile playing over his features.

"I've always liked elves," I admit a little shyly in embarrassment. Another thing I'll probably regret blurting. "Your culture is interesting... more than mine, anyways. And the stories about your people... the alienages are terrible." The history on elves the game's writers had created had always grabbed my attention when I'd played the game. It doesn't surprise me that I'd be stuck with an elven Warden if my mind thought all this up on its own.

"That is more than true," he nods his head in agreement and then smirks deviously. "And what's this about _liking_ elves?" His tone implies something, well... more than just liking.

"Oh, shut up that's not what I meant," I think I might be blushing. "I just like... oh my God – shut up!" I huff at him in a mixture of embarrassment and exasperation. I embarrass way to easily for my own good.

"I'm not saying anything though Karie," he says with laughter in his voice. He was making a face though. "Maybe we can find you a nice Dalish man who can take that aura of pain you have."

"Shut up!" I hiss thoroughly embarrassed. "Jesus Christ – that's not what I meant!"

He's openly laughing at me now – great. "I'm just pulling your leg," he sobers slowly. "And who's this Jesus Christ?"

"Uh, a guy from, um. I'm not Andrastian. Instead of cursing and saying Andraste, I curse with Jesus... I'm explaining this bad. Um..." I fidget under his curious gaze. "I just say some things differently – you can ignore it."

"As you wish," he concedes still smiling at me. "Do you know where we find the Dalish?"

"Do ya have a map?" I reply a little bit more calmly, and relieved that he'd changed the topic.

He rifles through the largest pouch on his belt before handing me a folded piece of paper, err, parchment. I open it and point it towards him so he can see when I circle the area I vaguely remember having that symbol for the Dalish on it from the game with the tip of my finger. "Around here."

"Ah," he squints his eyes at the paper. "We should reach them by the end of the week then." He looks up and he's still smiling at me. "You won't be ogling all the Dalish while we're there, now will you?"

"Oh my God – I will smack you," I pretend to threaten, and then a completely random thought occurs to me that I blurt, again. "I do want to pet a halla though."

* * *

I'm petting that halla by the end of the week, just like Sloane said we would. Well, not pet halla, but find the Dalish. Things went as expected when we arrived in the aravel-filled clearing, but I don't think Sloane was expecting that the infection I'd told him about would be lycanthropy and the cure would be Witherfang's heart. The look on his face was priceless.

"You're so sweet," I gush at the halla. "Now you let this lady take care of you, okay? She just wants to help you," I mutter to the halla as I pet from in between its ears to its snout. The fur is coarse and short – smooth one direction, and a little itchy the other. The halla I'm petting is that scared one that the halla caretaker asks for help with in the game. I wondered off from the others, I've seen all this before and have no wish to see it again, and found the halla's pen.

"You are a natural with halla," the Dalish woman says to me. I forget her name, and I didn't ask it. "For a shemlen you are quite gentle." That's nice... reverse racism right there?

"Uh, thanks ma'am," I mumble while I'm still petting this cool ass mystical-deer-thing – it's like a unicorn and a deer had a baby. It's so awesome. I wonder if this is a product of my own imaginings, or the game? It's a little different than what I remember the halla to look like, and strikingly similar to animals I've petted before when I was sane and back home.

I turn my head over my shoulder when I hear a bark behind me rather suddenly, and see Randall happily bounding down the incline towards me full speed. "Karie!" Sloane exclaims from behind his dog, and it sounds like he's a little out of breath. Looks it too. "I should have known you'd be with the halla. You had us all frightened."

I blink owlishly at him, hand still on the halla's nose, "I scared you?" I didn't know these people, real or not, cared enough to worry about me. I've only been stuck here a little while.

"Yes," he huffs once he's an arm length's away form me, and Randall's sniffling my bare feet with his big, wet nose. "We had thought something... untoward... happened to you," he frowns.

I look away in shame, and move my fingers off of the halla to thread them together instead. "I'm sorry, but I already knew what Keeper Zathrian would say, and I... wanted to pet a halla. I'm sorry," I apologize again and look up at him. My eyes move over his sharp features in consideration for a moment before I ask, "We're going after Witherfang's heart, right?" He nods in answer. "I have some things I should tell you guys before we go."

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

_"We're going after Witherfang's heart, right?" He nods in answer. "I have some things I should tell you guys before we go."_

* * *

We'd already fought some werewolves before we found the Dalish, or rather everyone else did and I kinda freaked out and accidentally did an aura of pain again. It's... so bizarre. It's painful, so much so that I feel right on the edge of either passing out or vomiting, but it's like a self-defense mechanism of some kind. I can't control it, it just _happens_ and it only comes about when I'm threatened. I have to assume it's something to protect me, or instead it's my subconscious just fucking with me. I'm honestly leaning towards the latter. The shiny red lines in my skin are probably a physical manifestation of some sort of inner pain I'm blind to. I guess there was a real reason for that goth period in college after all, and not just stress and a diet completely comprised of granola bars and energy drinks.

I've thought on other things in the days we were traveling through the Brecillian too. And in regards to my sanity and the real probability of this world, I may be more confused than I ever was before, I think. The reality of this world is stark and contrasting to anything I can think to compare it to – to anything other than the world I know to be real. The details, sensations... and there's so much I can't explain in words properly. There's things you just have to see in person for it solidify in your mind as something that's even remotely possible. Like magic – it's so different than what it seems like in the game. It has a physical presence about it, like smoke or fog, and yet acts against basic physical laws – gravity, inertia, and even basic biology it completely ignores. I'd never seen someone turn themselves into a giant spider before, then how come I can imagine up something so strange in my psychosis? There's no flash of light, and then _bam_ Morrigan is a spider. It's gradual and so, so incredible to look at.

I keep flip-flopping between what I think is real and what isn't, but that's not what I need to be thinking about now. The werewolves need to be dealt with, and if I'm here – I'm here and going to _do_ something and not just wish for something to happen or let something bad happen. I _really_ want to wake up, but I'm afraid of my death here – even if it means being back home. Death would be painful, wouldn't it? And I don't know exactly if death here is the road to sanity and reality. I'm not sure that's a risk I'm willing to take. Death, if I'm wrong, is a permanent thing that I don't wish for myself any time soon.

Regardless, we're now just outside the Dalish's camp. I have things I need to say for my own benefit, and the others' here with me. I'm throwing caution to the wind and telling what I can remember of this. I didn't want to say these things around the Dalish, in case the Keeper would... be upset, or affronted, or something.

I turn to the group and look at the people I've surrounded myself with, whether consciously or not. "The werewolves aren't just animals," I start and take a breath. "Most of 'em are the decedents of humans that were turned into werewolves by Zathrian. The Keeper's hundreds of years old."

"How can that be possible?" Alistair asks with a bewildered look about him.

"My mother tis just as old, if her stories are to be believed," Morrigan says just a _little_ snidely. "Prolonging one's life is not outside the realm of possible." I'd always thought it wasn't, but whatever.

I feel my brow crinkle as I start up again, "Zathrian's alive so long as Witherfang's alive. The Keeper summoned a forest spirit and bound her to a wolf – making lycanthropy," I continue and try to explain. "He did all that to infect the humans that raped and killed his daughter and his son. His daughter lived though, but killed herself when she found out she was pregnant by one of the humans that raped her."

"That is horrible," Leliana breathes with a stricken expression that had completely washed the color out of her cheeks. "I can sympathize with what he did, though now... it has become uncontrollable. His own people are falling to this curse."

I nod in agreement, "The werewolves that are alive now aren't even the ones that did all that – they're just their children's children. They're sick of the curse, and angry at Zathrian, so they're attacking the elves. They're infecting them to try and make Zathrian do something about it."

"And what do we do about it?" Sloane asks while he paces shortly. His expression is troubled. What happened to Zathrian's children might be a little too close to home for him, come to think about it. "We need Witherfang's heart, according to the Keeper." He stops pacing and looks at me sharply, "Will that kill him too? You said their lives are tied together."

I shake my head, "No, it doesn't, but then the werewolves will attack... and they'll all have to be killed," I say with a harsh frown turning the corners of my lips down. "I know a way to fix all this so no one dies, well, no one that has to die for this to be stopped."

"Well, what is it then?" Sloane asks impatiently with a huff of his breath and his arms crossed along his chest.

I take another deep breath when my frown thins itself out, "We have to talk to the Lady of the Forest - that's the spirit that's bound to Witherfang. She'll ask us to speak to Zathrian and end this peacefully. If we get him to talk to her, they can end the curse without a fight. But then both of them will die to end it."

"Someone will die any which way we go about this though?" Sloane asks with a raised brow, and I nod. "That's rubbish," he rakes a hand through his messy mop of hair in clear frustration. "I suppose we have no alternatives though."

I shift my weight and continue with complete honestly, "That's the best solution I've seen. It's the only way that I know that neither all the elves nor all the werewolves die."

He nods in acceptance after a short pause in thought, "Then we'll do that." He turns on his heels partially to address the rest of the group, "No one try to kill any werewolves that can be spared – I want as many of them cured as we can manage."

"There's a woman in the forest," I offer with slight hesitation and a nervous flex of my fingers against the hem of my tunic," She's an elf, and she'd recently changed into a werewolf. She's in a lot of pain, and she'll ask us to kill her for mercy." I pause and look up at Sloane directly with what I'm sure is a pathetic pleading look on my face, "If we can knock her out, or maybe if Morrigan can put her asleep with a spell, she can be cured. I think she can, anyways," I finish in a soft mumble. I had always wished there was a way to save her in the game.

"We'll try to spare her," Sloane reassures with a small, warm smile. "We'll spare however many werewolves we can."

The journey starts out simple enough though, killing and disabling things and watching the gruesome acts with a measure of shock and sickness, but I'd forgotten to mention the gigantic walking trees – and they surprise everyone but me. Alistair had found and bought me a pair of soft leather boots before we left the Dalish camp, and I'm thankful for it when one of the tree's roots wraps around my ankle and pulls me hard enough to smack my head against the packed earth and disorient me momentarily. I'm the only defenseless one that went with them all – because I know what happens, and I know how to get to the ruins too. We had left Bodahn, Sandal, and the cart back at the Dalish's camp because the trails weren't good for the cart's wheels, and Bodahn had wanted to trade with the Dalish too. There's some things I can't explain well enough for them to understand though. It's difficult to explain that weird barrier thing and how you pass through it and don't end up on the other side...

But the tree's angry at me, and it's just so... incredibly strange to have a fucking tree _growl_ at you. Crazy shit right there. Stunned as I am, I'm very thankful when Morrigan sets it on fire, because I totally froze up. Those red webs in my skin didn't even light up I was so shocked while I looked up at the thing with fear and awe intermixed.

"We are wasting time," Sten huffs after he literally cuts the tree in half, and then removes his blade with seemingly no effort at all. Someone found him a great-sword, and the guy definitely knows how to use it. "We will have more enemies as they turn, unless we progress further." He _might_ have the tiniest scowl creasing his face. It's a small movement, but it's still intimidating, and more so than the tree.

"Where do we go next Karie?" Sloane asks me while he wipes sweat from his brow, and the action and question helpfully distracts me from the huge qunari.

"There's a giant talking tree that can get us past this magical barrier if we get his acorn back from this crazy guy – and then we'll find the ruins," I say from my half-prone position on the ground. I'm still so shocked despite it all – that tree had a face! "All that probably sounded really nuts, but it happens."


	9. Chapter 9

I remember my way around the ruins – I was so proud of myself for like a whole ten minutes, until we were attacked by gigantic, and poisonous, spiders. They're hairy, drooling things that are ridiculously creepy and mean. I've backed into a side room to hide while everyone else fights those nasty creatures. One had spit poison on me and it burnt and ate through the skin on my shoulder with a green smoke and a harsh acidic smell. It hurt so much that I went into a blind rage, that's all I can think to call that mindlessness, and drained the spider that spat at me into a... husk of a thing with the weird blood magic-reaver webs in my skin. Once I was throughly disgusted with myself and completely healed, I regained enough sense to get myself out of harms way and hide. I don't know how to fight. I know well enough not to put myself in that situation any longer than I must.

The sounds of battle last a few tense moments more, and when I can't hear the spider's... hissing anymore I peer around the room's corner to see Leliana gathering what arrows she can, and everyone else shaking off black and green... goo from their weapons. Morrigan has a pretty bad looking burn on her arm too, the red raggedness a stark contrast to her paleness, and I watch her healing it with her magic and squeezing her luminous eyes shut at the pain as she does so. Those are some awful spiders.

"Lady seer, where have you gone off to?" I hear Alistair call out, and I walk to the decrepit room's barely existent doorway to wave at him in answer.

"Over here," I clasp my hands together in slight nervousness. "Are all of those things dead?"

"As dead as dead can be," Sloane sheathes his daggers at his belt in a practiced movement. "Is there anything useful in that room?" He asks while he walks towards me with a slight limp with one leg. "We could use more elfroot – even to chew on. That venom is a vile thing."

I look up from where I was looking at his leg and turn around to walk further into the room in an effort to answer his question, "No. I-" I cut myself off abruptly as something occurs to me, "I remember this room though."

I practically run to the far right corner of the room after I utter those words, and move rubble and dirt until I find what I'm looking for – that soul gem with the elf trapped inside. I know that elf's there, and when I find the gem a pleased smile spreads across my face when I pick it up in triumph. The periwinkle colored sludge inside of the diamond-cut gem moves sluggishly at my touch. The gem itself is a little warm and vibrating just slightly in the palm of my hand. I can feel the vibrations travel all the way up my arm, and I startle almost hard enough to drop it when I hear an accented, soft feminine voice speak elvish at me in my head after the feeling. I know it to be elvish because I can pick out a few words that I remember of the language invented for the game.

"I don't know what you're saying," I say aloud to it in stunned fascination. "I don't know elvish."

 _"Oh,"_ she says at me in my head now in a language I can understand. _"I_ _am_ _sorry._ _I_ _did_ _not_ _realize_ _you_ _were_ _human."_

"I am," I reply. "And you're a Dalish Arcane Warrior. You've been stuck in this gem for hundreds of years, haven't you?"

 _"Yes,"_ she sighs. _"My_ _name..._ _it_ _is_ _Aereweld._ _I_ _have_ _not_ _forgotten_ _it._ _What_ _is_ _your_ _name_ _friend?"_

"I'm Karie." I smile down at the gem that I'm watching. The sludge in it moves about at both my words and hers.

 _"You_ _are_ _one_ _of_ _the_ _dragon-kin,_ _but_ _different."_ Her disembodied voice has a curious tone to it now. _"_ _You_ _have_ _not_ _taken_ _the_ _dragon's_ _blood,_ _yet_ _you_ _have_ _their_ _spirit;_ _their_ _power._ _How_ _did_ _you_ _obtain_ _that_ _then?"_

"You mean my reaver skills," my smile turns quickly into a frown, and I can barely hear the others talking from behind me since I'm so focused on the gem in my hand. I don't really know _why_ I'm talking to the thing, other than I can and it has me completely enraptured. "Blood mages did this to me. I don't know how. But... how'd you know I'm a Reaver?"

 _"I_ _can_ _sense_ _the_ _power_ _in_ _your_ _touch,"_ she answers with a certainty carried in those few words. _"I_ _can_ _also_ _sense_ _your_ _disquiet,_ _friend._ _I_ _would_ _like_ _to_ _help_ _you,_ _in_ _return_ _for_ _a_ _favor,_ _but_ _first_ _–_ _it_ _would_ _be_ _easier_ _to_ _communicate_ _on_ _a_ _different_ _plane._ _One_ _we_ _can_ _both_ _see."_

I'm silent for a moment at her strange words, and then my world turns white, not black, with a bizarre frazzling sensation that's a stark similarity to the pain I feel from the lines in my skin. I'm so terribly confused when everything I see before me is just this stark white - everything but a petite dark skinned elven woman with leaf-green markings tattooed on her oval-shaped face. Her wild hair is brushed back and her clothes are an odd mixture of metal and cloth. She has a sword at her hip and a twisted wooden staff at her back.

"Aneth ara lethallan - may I call you that? It seems like we know each other already," she smiles impishly after bowing shortly at her waist with one arm crossed against her armored chest.

"Umm... Sure," I reply softly and look around. I'm stunned. What's happening any more? Have I really lost it now? Lost in my mind _in_ my mind - like that stupid movie Inception? Though this reminds me of that scene in the Matrix more... "What happened?" I blurt.

"I have transported our spirits to a sleeper-free plane of the Beyond - one void of nothing but the essence of the Beyond. Accessible to those only with a deep connection to the Beyond, as I happen to be in this form." She walks closer to me, and I can see how muscular she is beneath the fit of her elaborate outfit. She's definitely an Arcane Warrior. "You are the first soul I have spoken with in... well, I don't know how long. Too long. There are times when I can barely remember myself." She frowns harshly. She's standing less than an arm's reach away from me now and still sways closer once she starts talking again. "I do know who, or rather, _what_ you are though, lethallan. You do not hail from this side of the Beyond."

My completely dumbfounded and bewildered silence must give her incentive to explain, because she does, "There are twists in the fabric of the Beyond - tendrils and ripples that flow to other places of existence. You are not from this one, this one we call Thedas, but yet here you are," she tilts her head at me in contemplation. "You must be blessed by Elgar'nan himself to have not been destroyed during your travel here. How did you get here, I wonder? It is linked to this, isn't it?" She raises one delicate hand clad in fingerless gloves to my cheek, and traces a vein of blood magic that I know to be there just beneath my skin. "Who did this to you lethallan? Who mangled the dragon-kin's gifts and forced their creation into you?"

"There were... there were," my head is whirling and for some inexplicable reason I'm still answering her question. "Three blood mages. They're dead now. Sloane killed them."

"One must have made a deal with an ill spirit of fear, yes, there is no other explanation for this. No other creature in the Beyond would dare such a thing - tempering with the fabric of the Beyond. It can rip, just as any fabric, and then chaos would ensue." She puts all her fingers to my cheek then, "I have not had a companionable touch in years. You are a good woman, and you do not deserve such abominable acts on you."

How can anything of what this... this apparition is saying to me possibly be true? So much said and disproved, or proved, with just a few words... It can't be true, can it? Then how come I'm believing it? Why am I so quick to accept that I'm not crazy, just that something crazy happened to me? Is it fool's hope? "Can I go home?" I whisper to the elven woman and feel the hot sting of tears welling in my eyes. I'm getting overwhelmed again.

"I'm afraid, but... I do not think that is possible, lethallan. This spirit of fear must have destroyed itself in bringing you here. No spirit can exist for long outside a tendril of the Beyond - whether that tendril is the Beyond itself or in a vessel tethered to it, like any mage-born. You are forever here, lethallan," she whispers with a sadness in her voice that's too horrible not to be genuine. "I am sorry."

"So I'm not crazy?" I'm openly crying now, and she wipes the tears from my cheeks as they fall. "I'm really here? This is real? How can I believe that?"

"In time you may," she rests both her hands on my cheeks. "I can help you understand, lethallan, in exchange for your promise to aid me. I wish oblivion, you must understand. I have lived long past my time."

"I-" my voice cracks. I'm drowning in my thoughts. How can what she's saying be true? Any of it? I had thought... but it was foolish to think of this as reality, isn't it? "How can you help me understand? I-I don't."

"I can gift you my knowledge – all of it. I can give this to you here, in this plane of the Beyond. In my time, I understood the subtleties of existence and life far better than most – that is how I knew I could preserve my soul in a blessed gem in order to save myself. I had only to wait for someone to release me, so I could return to my body, but none came. _Please_ ," she says roughly, "I understand more than you think, lethallan – I only ask that you destroy the gem and set me free in return," her violet-colored eyes are shining in her desperation. "I can even teach you my trade, though you are dragon-kin and not mage-born and could not use all my knowledge in that regard. You would know swordsmanship if you do not already, lethallan, and you could learn to truly harness your ill-wrought gifts with this knowledge – I promise you. Please set me free, I beg of you."

"Do whatever you want," I gasp. I can't... I can't focus. I can't think. But her nails are digging into my face and she looks so upset, so desperate, I can't ignore it.

"Thank you lethallan," she soothes the pads of her fingers over the red marks she made on my face. She then slowly wraps her arms around my back in a loose hug, "I will not prolong my gifts, lethallan. I wish death."

Images... so many images pass through my mind's eye with every breath I take. Sounds, tastes, feelings, even emotions surge within me with every image. It feels as though it's me, but with every image my hands are dark and inked in green – these are Aereweld's memories. Not mine. Her knowledge she's passed into me, and yet as it's done it feels like my own. These images are accompanied by the conversations of people that seem familiar, but aren't. A dark hand holding a light one and a fluttering feeling of hope and desire passes blissfully through me. An eagle's flight and the feelings of joy as the breeze from its wings passes overhead is refreshing. A... tome with symbols and a language I do not recognize, yet I can fully understand is frustrating. Even a brutal battlefield littered with dead, familiar faces – their own blood covering more of their skin than the sun is cold and stabs sharper than any blade. The feelings of sadness, horror, and shame are nearly too much to bear at that point. And then I see the blade protruding from a bloodied stomach. The pain is cold and sickening. The shock is electrifying.

" _It is done_ ," I hear Aereweld whisper when the images pass and are replaced with so much white. _"Release me when you awaken. Please lethallan."_

I feel myself come to with a gasp - "Aereweld!" I exclaim and sit up coughing on heavily incensed air. I'm back to myself. I can feel it - my body feels heavy and slow in comparison to my mind.

"Karie!" Someone shouts in return, though it is not Aereweld's soft voice. My thoughts are coming too quickly for me to recognize the voice, and the sensations I'm feeling are too overwhelming for me to process. My vision is blurry when I look around briefly, but then I see Aereweld's periwinkle gemstone in my fist and my attention is quickly focused on it. My knuckles are white and my palm is bloodied from how strongly I'm holding that stone to me. My blood against the purple of the stone is all I can look at.

"Get the Keeper!" That same voice shouts. "She's awake!"

"Aereweld!" I shout at the stone in a cracking voice. "I can't do magic – how am I supposed to set you free?!"

"Perhaps I can help with that, falon," I turn my head and my vision I focuses on... Lanaya, that has to be her. She's standing by my feet, and I'm laying on... furs?

"Aereweld – she's stuck in this soul gem," I explain in my mania. I hope the Dalish mage understands. "She made me promise to set her free – I saw... I know how. A crushing prison spell, please. _Please_ help me – she... she just doesn't want to be trapped like this anymore." Every feeling Aereweld ever felt passed through me, became my own – even her desperation for death. For an end she has been denied for so long. "Asha mana – melvana. Asha din'isala. Asha ensansal emma. Asha souveri. Asha din'uth. Sahlin, Lanaya. Halam sahlin, Keeper." I take a deep breath after my pleas and I cradle that last bit of Aereweld to my chest in my aching hand. " _Please_."

Lanaya blinks slowly, and what color she had on her pale skin has completely disappeared. She visibly swallows before she answers in a shaking breath, "I will help you, falon, but you must tell me what's happened here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations (some are roughly translated):
> 
> Aneth ara: a friendly greeting
> 
> Lethallan: "clansman"; a familiar, casual reference
> 
> Elgar'nan: the Dalish God of Vengence
> 
> Asha mana – melvana: "A woman from long past - a long time ago"
> 
> Asha din'isala: "She has not died"
> 
> Asha ensansal emma: "She wants me to gift her this"
> 
> Asha souveri: "She is tired"
> 
> Asha din'uth: "She should not be eternal"
> 
> Sahlin: "Now"
> 
> Halam sahlin: "End it now"
> 
> Falon: "friend"


	10. Chapter 10

They did it – they did it without me. They convinced Zathrian to end the curse peacefully with the Lady. They did it without me because I was unresponsive while Aereweld gave me all her memories, and with it her knowledge. I understand now. Nothing is beyond the scope of possible, some people believe that and that's what's happened here – with me.

Aereweld was a member of an ancient guild of mages that had tried to make the impossible possible. She did research on life preservation and the trans-dimensional properties of the soul. They didn't call it that though. They called it the multiple-planes of existence. She, along with four others – one of whom was her lover – discovered how to store a person's essence into a gemstone with unique properties. Gemstones that were 'vessels of the Beyond' they called them. Soul gems. One of her guild members discovered that the Beyond transversed what they considered reality, and touched places that only the strongest of demons or spirits could see. The member that discovered this was a spirit healer, one who had a deep connection with a spirit of empathy. Some of these places the Beyond's fabric reached to are what's known as the Eternal City, the place of the afterlife, and other 'sides' of the Beyond where people existed. It's alternate reality theory stuff – trans-dimensional travel via a place void of time and space. The Beyond is never ending, yet with some unexplainable solid fluidity, like a piece of silk, and basic rules of the world, like time, do not apply there. The closest thing I can think of is a black-hole. Maybe the 'tendrils' that reach other planes of the Beyond are black-holes... I don't know, but Aereweld seemed to think I'd traveled along one of these tendrils and ended up here – in Thedas. With the help of an 'ill spirit' – a demon.

I was the prisoner of blood mages. Maybe one, or all three of them, were powerful enough to do something like that. Maybe they were powerful enough to find someone who knew of this plane through the game and could protect them from the Archdemon like they wanted. And that's why they made me a reaver – so I wouldn't be defenseless. Because why wouldn't they be able to find someone who had played the game? We know of this world through an interactive story, and perhaps they knew of ours my some similar means. It's possible there are an infinite amount of alternate realities – and each story told could possibly exist somewhere sometime. That every reality you could ever think of could theoretically be a reality in a different dimension. I've heard these theories before. It's possible even those blood mages could've had a way to single out someone who played the game – and it had just so happened to be me. Maybe in this version of Thedas that was possible, and it happened. I get a headache just thinking about it – thinking about just how horribly wrong this is.

It shouldn't be possible, but it apparently is.

I try to explain this to Keeper Lanaya, like she had asked. She set Aereweld free with her crushing prison spell – the arcane warrior can finally die and pass on to the afterlife. She believes her soul will travel to another plane of existence. She'll be reunited with her lover. She deserves peace regardless of the outcome.

All the Dalish mage's thoughts, knowledge, memories, and feelings have been put into my head. I've been implanted with the knowledge of her entire person – or at least what wasn't lost over time. Some things are fuzzy – mostly her childhood, but the things she was passionate about are clear. Things that she was proud of, excited about, and things that she loved. Aereweld had lost her mind in that gemstone. The person I had met was just a shadow of who she once was. She was a powerful mage, high ranking, and a scholar. She was also a veteran of a war the Dalish were fighting allied to the humans for. She didn't remember the threat, but she'd remembered how her blade has sung and her magic had destroyed.

She didn't know why her soul gem was never found. The most likely explanation she could think of was that all the people that knew of the soul gems, and how to use them, were dead.

"You're not from here," Sloane drawls after I've explained. He was the one I had heard calling my name when I had woke up from the Beyond, but I couldn't recognize his voice in my hysteria. "I'm no mage, but that sounds absolutely outrageous."

"It is actually quite common knowledge - other planes of existence," Lanaya points out calmly. "Spirits can't exist here without being brought to this side of the Beyond, and the same would go for other living creatures that are from different sides. They would have to be brought over too."

There's a pause before I speak again, "I thought I was crazy," I confess. "And maybe I still am. Even knowing all this... I-I still don't know if I can believe it."

"Falon," Lanaya frowns at me. "I have barely been Keeper for more than a day, but know that even though you are not Dalish in body - you are in spirit. Seek guidance in the Creators, and if you need council please speak to me."

"You're from a different world entirely," Sloane rudely ignores Lanaya in favor of scrutinizing me. "What is this world you're from called then? What is it like?"

"We call our world Earth," I answer softly.

"Like dirt," he sniffles.

I almost smile at that, "Yeah, dirt. There's no elves there. Or qunari. We only have humans and some dwarves, I guess. We consider our dwarves human too though. And we don't have magic."

"No elves, qunari, or magic," he tics off his fingers. "That sounds rather boring now, doesn't it?"

"I guess," I frown. "I know Thedas from a story. This whole time has been written back home - we even have artwork." I'm not going to bother explaining a gaming system or computer.

"So you're not really a seer then," he concludes and squints his eyes critically at me.

"No," I answer simply.

"But you are a reaver," he points out.

"Yeah - cause of those blood mages. Aereweld, she... I know how to fight now because of her. I-I think I can use a sword," I bite my lip nervously. This is real isn't it? I'm going to have to fight to save myself.

"Excellent," he pushes himself off of the stool he was sitting on to stand. "It seems those blood mages only concerned themselves with the Archdemon, but neglected to think of how they could protect themselves from the Wardens," he smiles a bit. "I'm glad we whisked you away from them, Karie. You will, and have been, an asset to our cause. I hope you'll continue to aid us...?"

I nod. What else am I supposed to do? Hide somewhere and wait out the Blight? That's ridiculous... I'll, well, now I have to help them, don't I? My conscious would get to me if I left now.

"I will help you falon," Lanaya puts a hand on my shoulder briefly in comfort. "Allow the Dalish to repay your lot's kindness - we will see to it that you are all outfitted and given what we can spare. We owe so many lives to you."


	11. Chapter 11

I decide I ought go to Lanaya after I've visited the craftsman with everyone else. I blindly follow the others to the man at the Keeper and Sloane's behest, and now I'm wearing studded leather armor. I look... medieval now, I guess. Leliana cut my hair, it wasn't salvageable, but the pixi-bob she made it into is the shortest I've ever had it. And the sword I have strapped to my hip is awkward to have, but necessary. It has a rune in it to make it super light for speed, which is good since I have no muscle tone to speak of - even before the blood mages starved me and erased all marks from my skin to have a clean slate with which to inject their blood magic into. It's a bastard sword, I know at least that much from my weapons junkies dad and grandpa, and it's a split blade. A green blade. I'm a little afraid I'll hurt myself with it; it's also quite sharp.

The sword and armor are necessary now, because, well, I know how to use them. Just meeting one person changed me so much. Aereweld changed me. She's in my head now, but I'm not crazy. As funny as that sounds, her thoughts have granted me clarity. I can't think on it too much though, instead I'm focusing on the here and now, because if I dwell on it over much I may just have that psychotic break I had thought I was experiencing originally.

Shit. I'm thinking about it.

Will I ever find my way home? Aereweld didn't think it was possible. There's still a chance though, isn't there? No matter how slim. I'll never see my friends or family ever again then? I never even said goodbye. It's almost certain that I'll never see them though, right? I can't even fully grasp that, as I've been surrounded by those people practically every day of my life. I can only imagine what my sudden disappearance would've done to them. It would've been confusion at the doctor's office when I didn't show up for work, and the doctor or his wife would have likely called my emergency contact, my mom, when they couldn't get a hold of me. Then it would've gone down-hill from there, and I can only imagine the desperation and shock that those I see or talk to every day would have suffered when I suddenly was gone without any explanation or possible reason. How soon would they call the cops and report me missing? How long would it take them before they gave up on finding me? Never?

I'd go back if I could. In a heart-beat. This might be some amazing, reality-defying thing that happened to me despite the blood magic, but I miss home. The constant, electrifying sounds of darkspawn and Blight-tainted animals always in the distance, the fucking trees everywhere that are so different from the city I'm from, and the simple knowledge that this is a war and there are people dying practically every minute. I can't get the sound of bone crunching beneath steel out of my head, or the sight of so much blood and black ichor smeared on leather and fur.

I'm forced to live this now - this is my reality. As much as I wish for things to change, they won't. I have to abide by Aerweld's knowledge and wisdom if I'm to have a chance at survival. I have to accept this. I have to wear the armor all day, I have to strap the sword to my belt, and I have to have my hair cut for helmet-wear. Just with these simple things I'm so different. I'm not me anymore, am I?

"It is a shame I had to cut so much," Leliana comments while she combs my hair. She's trying to style it. I told her it doesn't matter, because it'll just turn into a wavy mess in a few hours.

"Yeah, but it was gross," I look at her over my shoulder and welcome the distraction from my solemn thoughts. "It's seriously just going to get frizzy in this wind. You don't have to mess with it."

Her hands pause and she sighs while she removes the comb, "I had overheard what had happened to you," she confesses quietly. "The tent you were in was large – but it was still canvas. I would not be surprised if near half the camp knew of your... predicament."

"Awesome," I sigh in irritation. The last thing I need is a bunch of people looking at me strangely and pitying me over something that cannot be undone or changed. I don't want that kind of attention on me. I take a breath and squeeze my eyes shut to calm myself. I'm not close enough to Leliana to be bitchy with her. She wouldn't understand that I don't mean any of it – that I just need to vent.

"Just... know," she continues hesitantly, "that I am still sworn as a member of the Chantry, and can hold all you say in the highest confidence if you need someone to speak with."

"I'm going to talk to Lanaya," I say as I stand up abruptly, and when I do I realize that must've looked and sounded bad. "I mean, she just gave me all this stuff, and she... I'm, sorry," I fumble. "I'm a mess right now. Thanks for help with my hair. Maybe... maybe I'll talk to you later." I shift my weight uncomfortably, "You... remind me of one of my sisters," I confess in an awkward attempt to compliment the woman and soothe any feelings I may have hurt with my carelessness.

"Oh?" She raises a brow, "And how many sisters do you have?"

"Two," dammit. And now I'm thinking about them. I'm not going to cry again. "You remind me of the youngest one. She would cut my hair for me too."

"Ah," she smiles sadly. "Go and speak with the Keeper then. I will chat with you later."

"Thanks," I say quickly, before I hurry off from where we were sitting on a log on the outside of the camp.

"Falon," Lanaya greets me with a bob of her head once I find her inside the Dalish's camp. The elves that were infected with the lycanthropy still aren't feeling the best, and Lanaya is making potions with a few other elves to speed their healing. "You look well. How are you feeling?"

"Okay, I guess." I pause a moment before continuing, "I wanted to say thanks for... for everything. Aereweld, and everything."

"You are welcome," she bows her head. "Take all that you've learned from her to heart – it's a wonderful gift she's given you."

"Yeah," I agree and reach out to shake her hand in thanks, but she doesn't take my hand in turn. Dalish don't shake hands. I'm an idiot. I think I've offended her, and struggle to explain my actions even though I knew better. "It's just... Aereweld. I... I don't know how to explain this right." _Without completely embarrassing the shit out of myself_ , I add silently in my head. I had known Aereweld for such a short period of time, but I know her better than I know most people. Lanaya helped set her free. It's almost too difficult to put into words just how important that is. "Ma serannas, Keeper. Emma sulahn'nehn. Enansal'nan." The shock of a human speaking elvish has passed on Lanaya, but the other elves around her look at me like I've sprouted wings. I try to ignore them the best I can when Lanaya speaks.

"Suledin, falon," she smiles and looks up to me from where she's sitting with a mortar and pestle in her hands. "Did Aereweld gift you the knowledge of Uthenera?" I nod. "Perhaps you would like to say it for her."

"I think I will," I smile a watery smile. "Good luck with... everything."

"Ma serannas. May the Creators guide you."

"Karie?" Sloane calls from behind me, and I turn to see him wearing dark, and hard looking leather armor. His leather cap has been replaced by an open faced helmet with hanging sides too. "We're all set to go."

I give Lanaya a quick wave goodbye, and Sloane thanks her again, before I turn to follow Sloane to the cart. Somehow the Dalish even found something for Sten to wear – it looks more like a barely held together padded vest, but at least he has more protection than he had. Everyone else has at least one thing new or repaired – Randall even has a collar now.

"Where are we going next lady seer?" Alistair asks while he puts an overstuffed pack into the cart.

"She's not really a seer," Sloane rolls his eyes. Everyone rolls their eyes at Alistair it looks like. "I thought I'd explained that to you all."

"She still knows how to end the Blight," the other Warden points out – literally with his finger wagging at Sloane. "Knowing the future still makes her a seer in my book."

"But she's not a mage," Sloane groans. "We have more important things to concern ourselves with then our companion here. Sorry, but it's true," he tugs at his packed belt. "We need to decide whether we'll go after one of the remaining treaties, or seek the men at Redcliffe."

"There's a civil war about to start in Orzammar because the king died, but I think he was murdered," I start listing off what I know and can remember as I'm trying to be helpful and distract myself all the same. "Blood mages are planning a coup at the Circle and 'll summon demons. And the village at Redcliffe is being overrun with walking skeletons. They're killing the villagers." I take a breath, "Arl Eamon is unconscious because he was poisoned by a blood mage hired by Loghain too." I scrunch my nose by the end of it. All the options suck.

"Arl Eamon was poisoned." Alistair looks pale. Oh... should I have just blurted all that like that?

"Why should we concern ourselves over one irrelevant nobleman when the Chantry's precious Circle is threatened? That sounds almost too good to be true, I dare say," Morrigan smiles a cruel looking smile. "I for one vote that we seek the treaty at the Circle next."

"How could you say such a thing?" Alistair quickly turns red in anger while facing Morrigan, "You don't know the Arl! He's a good man!"

"Calm down – all of you shems!" Sloane shouts. "You all made me leader, so let me think!" He runs a hand over his face and takes a deep breath while he visibly calms himself down. _He is a very leader-y person_ , I think to myself. It's impressive how's he's adapted to this role given how he lived before. "If there are villagers dying at Redcliffe right now, then I think we should go there – quickly – and save as many people as we can."

"They are," I nod. "When we get there, they'll already be at their last leg."

"Why didn't you say something sooner then?!" Alistair growls at me... and I'd be lying if I didn't say it wasn't scary. His face is red and he looks so, so upset. He's pretty big too. Like quarterback sized. Have I mentioned how much I really don't like it when someone yells at me like this? It's even worse when it's a tall person doing the angry yelling.

I cower a little when I reply but hold my ground all the same, "I – the Dalish were dying too. Everyone's dying here. We can't – there's a Blight..."

"It's not her fault they're in danger," Sloane raps Alistair on the shoulder as if to physically keep him in check. "She's right though – everyone is dying. And we can't save everyone, but we can try to save as many as we can." He glares a little at Alistair until he looks away ashamed, and then looks to the rest of us. "Off to Redcliffe then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Ma serannas - 'my thanks'
> 
> Emma sulahn'nehn - 'I am singing with joy' or 'I am rejoicing'. A Dalish expression for extreme joyfulness.
> 
> Enansal'nan - 'Blessing vengeance'. A Dalish expression honoring the God of Vengeance and the All-Father, Elgar'nan.
> 
> Uthenera - the Dalish euolgy.
> 
> Suledin - 'endure; strength to withstand loss'. In this context, a Dalish wish for luck or blessing for prosperity.
> 
> Extra note: I've made up several of these expressions. i.e. they're not strictly canon.


	12. Chapter 12

"Where are we lethallan?" The voice rings out as clearly as a bell and reverberates through my skull causing me to wake up with a start and a gasp. I instantly bring a hand clasped to my chest as if to physically steam the rapid beating of my heart.

"Where are we?" The voice says again and I recognize it faintly as a demure version of Aereweld's soft tones.

I look around in confusion with a touch of fear and see the sky a muted grey, the clouds edged with eerie shades of color that like look like bruises with stars faintly glimmering behind their stretched edges.

"Where, lethallan?" The voice rings out again, and I struggle to my knees in the thickly muddy earth that smells rank of waste and stagnant water. The shapes in the distance are blurry as if I'm not wearing my glasses, and then I'm reminded that I haven't needed the things since waking in Thedas. I blink to clear the fog from my eyes just as a bit of moonlight winks out past the bruised clouds to alight a horrific scene before me. There's dead bodies littering the ground. I'm suddenly reminded of the stench around me as one I recognize covering an old friend of mine who had worked at the county morgue, and the smell of blood agars left out too long.

I can only stare in horrified silence as I take in the mangled and bifurcated bodies of elves and humans alike. There's limbs missing and shredded into the earth and weeds, faces leaking orange, red, and black viscous liquids from caved-in eyes and noses, greying organs still covered in lymph fluid and blood flayed from body cavities to lay inches from their wrecked bodies. I'm scared stock-still - I cannot move an inch.

"Here we are lethallan," the voice says again though much, much closer as if they're speaking right into my ear - I can nearly feel the ghostly breath feather across my cheek. "Do you recognize them lethallan?" It asks with an undefinable edge to those five words.

And sure enough - I do. There's Sloane, Alistair, Leliana, Morrigan, heck - even Sten. They're just heaps of bones and blood, but I can recognize them through the adrenaline fuelled-fear coursing through my veins and lighting the blood magic infused into my skin. And it's not just them there laying in this blackened field, but my sisters, parents, friends, and the rest of my family. They've all been slaughtered. Killed and thrown into a pile - and I don't know why.

"You have failed lethallan, just as I," the voice shrieks an unearthly sound and then I feel something cold, yet burning in my chest. When I pull my hand away from my heart it's covered in my blood and flesh - and I scream.

I wake up with my heart lodged in my throat and my cheeks dampened by tears – I had a nightmare. I know it was one. It was probably up there as one of the worst ones I've ever had though. And I think it was a mixture of one of Aereweld's memories and my own. Everyone I've ever known and cared about slaughtered on a field with more blood on their skin than should be possible. It was all so clear but hazy at the same time, as only dreams can be.

"Are you okay?" I see Sloane sitting on a log near the fire-pit where I had laid out the bedroll the Dalish had given me. He's on watch – it's still nighttime, but clearer than the nightmare's night I had just woken from. "You were thrashing about quite a bit before you woke. I would have woken you myself, but I didn't think it would've been wise to rouse a reaver – what with your life draining capabilities and all."

I shake my head at that, and then groan at the headache building in my skull, and I rub the sleep, and tears, from my eyes. "I think I'm just worried about everyone. I'm homesick, I think, and I don't even know how everyone is back home. I keep thinking about them."

"And you can't go home right now even if you wanted to." He replies in kind, "I miss my cousins too, but I suppose it's not the same – I can still see them sometime in the near future, hopefully."

"Soris and Shianni?" I ask with a raised brow and a relieved breath, and I'm glad for the distraction. That dream I had was too frightening, but I know it's a dream so I know it'll eventually pass.

"I'm still not used to you doing that," he smirks. "But yes, Soris and Shianni. Do you know what happened? How I became a Warden?" he readily changes the subject. I know that he knows nightmares all too well too.

I nod, "It can be a little different than what I know though. There were different ways that part of the story was told."

"Well, I think you can gather why I'd asked though," he brushes a hand through his hair. "I didn't exactly leave my cousins in the best place. I worry about them too."

"Did Soris get arrested?" Sloane doesn't seem like the kind of person that would've ratted him out, but I'm still curious none-the-less and completely focusing on his worries and not my own so I don't have to think about it.

"No – I solely took the blame for the crimes we'd committed so he would not suffer." He pauses before he continues, "Mind if I sit next to you while we discuss this? It's a bit... impersonal to be sitting at this distance talking about our families."

"Sure," I scoot over on my bedroll and stretch out my legs on the damp vegetation. The coldness prickles my skin but helps to further ground me in the here-and-now and not my thoughts. "Go ahead."

He gets up gingerly and sits on the far side of my bedroll a careful distance away. I wonder if he's actually scared of the weird blood magic reaver shit in my skin? He seems a little hunched over, and his face is pulled into an odd expression. "I left Soris behind with his betrothed. I'd imagine they'd marry soon," he says with a bit of longing in his tone.

I scrunch up my face – I don't remember what happens to them. I don't know if Soris ever marries that elven woman. I just remember the epilogue saying that he marries a human woman. "I think she stays with him... I don't really remember. I'm sorry..." Should I tell him about the slavers now that I'm thinking about it? It's not like he can do anything about it right now though. I'll warn him of some of it though. I don't know when the slavers get into the alienage anyways, and Sloane deserves to know some of what's happening to his home. At least all that I can remember clearly with certainty. "...Things get worse in the alienage. Lots of people get sick, and the nobles lock everyone up inside."

"A plague of some sort? Maker..." His ruddy brows furrow in obvious worry at his conclusions. "Those shems would corral everyone and watch them die – I can just imagine it," he spits with a palpable bitterness.

I lean towards him in a uneasy attempt to offer comfort in face of his anger, "Your family survives it though. Shianni, Soris and your father are all fine," I offer gently.

"Thank you, for letting me know," he smiles sadly. "Shianni deserves an easy life after all she's been through. I'd hate to think she'd be suffering while I'm gone."

"She's a strong girl," I smile reassuringly. "I just wish I knew if my sisters are okay. I mean, I know your cousins are okay, but... "

"I understand," he tilts his head knowingly. "Uncertainty plagues us all."

Sloane's words eat at me for the entire day. I'm far from certain on so much right now. Despite the things I have learned, and all that I've seen in these past few days, these past few moments, doubt still lingers. A fear of the unknown is almost suffocating. I worry about so much too, and those worries manifested themselves in my dreams. I hate myself for what I've done that to my family and friends back home, even if it was beyond my control.

"I'd wanted to apologize." I'm brought out of my troubling thoughts by a familiar voice, and blink up at Alistair in the bright afternoon's light. I'm walking beside the cart now that I have boots, and I think I might've accidentally wandered near him while I was lost in my head. "I was a right sodding arse yesterday, and I'm sorry about that – if I frightened you."

I blink some more while I'm unsure of what to say, and I think I've hesitated too long, because Alistair feels the need to continue, "I think I did scare you. I-I've felt bad about it. Everything must be so scary for you given what you've been through, and I... I'm just an insensitive arse apparently."

"You're just worried about Eamon, is all," I offer. "If I'd found out one of my uncles was in a coma, I would've freaked out too."

"'Uncle?' Wait..." he drawls in a suspicious tone, "You know, don't you?"

"Uh... shit," I bite my bottom lip nervously. "Is it really that big of a secret? Can't you just tell everybody?"

"Just tell everybody? Like it's that simple," he pinches the bridge of his nose with his gloved hand.

"It can be," I shrug. "I don't think anyone would treat you differently. What's it really matter anyway?"

"It can matter a whole lot to some people," he frowns harshly.

"I guess," now I'm frowning too at his frown-y face. "I don't think it'd matter with us though. Or maybe it's just me."

"It's probably just you," he smirks. "The lady reaver seer from a whole other world."


	13. Chapter 13

We're getting closer to Redcliffe, at least Alistair says we are. Everything looks the same dull tones of brown and green to me. I've never been this long out in fields and trees and such - I can't tell how much progress we've made, if any at all. I'm longing to see a familiar shopping complex or building. It's stupid that I miss that shit, but it's better than being distraught over something I _can't_ change. (I can't go home.) It's been two weeks since we've left the Dalish though, and the different sights we've seen, though rare they are, are just as depressing as my reality. I've seen desolate farms burnt husks of the homes they once were, ashen piles of timber that Leliana tells me are burnt pyres, evidence of skirmishes stained into the ground in blackened blood, and bands of animals and people starved and wild-eyed. I've killed, God I have, and it keeps getting worse. The first time I killed a creature with my fucking sword was when another pack of Blighted wolves attacked us. The poor animals were mad and dying anyways, but I've still never killed a creature beyond bio lab dissections and failed attempts at making glowing fish in college. And that was before I'd taken an ethics class that completely changed my outlook on things - the sole reason for me becoming vegan and igniting my love of philosophy. I puked - I was covered in wolves' blood and rank pieces of bone, and my emotions surged along with my stomach's meager contents. It was all just instinct, the killing. I didn't even consciously register what I was doing until it was done and I was standing there with the beasts' still-warm blood coating my armor and fur and bits of tissue and brain matter stuck to my blade. This blood magic, and the blood rage associated with it really messes me up.

I was quiet, mad at myself and the world as a whole, for several days after - until we encountered a troupe of desperate bandits. Will I ever be clean? Will the images of those men's splayed open necks, blood-drenched gutted bodies, and ashen terrified faces at my own hands ever leave my mind's eye? It was so easy to do it too - easier than it should've been to take a life. Aereweld apparently taught me well. I'm an efficient warrior - Morrigan even told me so. Should I be proud of that? Should I be glad that people died because I had no choice? Those men didn't give us any options. I know well enough that they would've raped some of us, killed the rest, and gladly taken our belongings in the hopes of just surviving a day more in this fucked up world. That doesn't make me feel any better about it though. The only thing I'm the tiniest bit thankful for is that the blood rage left me unfeeling to it all until afterwards with me standing there stock-still staring in horrified shock at the massacre we'd created. I hate to think about just how dead I would've been if I had hesitated in drawing my sword. Those blood mages created a perfect little mindless killer, didn't they? Fuck 'em to hell and back. I hope the Beyond in this world is enough to let them suffer for every single damned life they've ever caused pain to, including my own and any lives that've been hurt because of me - whether in the creation of these abilities or after.

The things that I've experienced, the atrocities I've been witness to and participated in, left me unbalanced and hurt in a suffering of my own guilt and increasing ire to my situation. I had woken to another nightmare today. These things keep getting worse. These nightmares actually happened and torture me with a reality I desperately wish wasn't real. Sloane sat with me and kept me company after I woke up gasping for breath and soaked to the bone in a cold sweat. Alistair had tried to wake me from the one I had the next night, like he does for Sloane for their darkspawn ones, and I had nearly killed him. Those bloody webs in my skin lit up his, and I was draining the life from his body before Randall tackled us and I stopped. I was so disgusted with myself that I had hid in the nearby trees and wept until the sun had risen and we were ready to set out again. I can't control myself. I can't control these damned markings. Alistair was weakened for an entire day after that, and that was after Leliana force-fed him our largest health potion. I guess me and him are now even in scaring the shit out of each other.

"Does any of this get any easier?" I whisper to Sloane while I'm staring unseeing at the flames in the fire-pit. It's the following night, the sky is just starting to turn purple and pink with the coming sunrise, and I was unable to even attempt to rest with all the thoughts bounding about in my head and making me sick to my stomach. I haven't even been able to eat - how can I when I'd almost killed a friend mindlessly just mere days after slaughtering hungry, desperate men and women without so much as a blink until after the battle was done?

"No," Sloane - an elf, my friend, savior, and commander answers without hesitation in a voice labored with a truth that he understands too well. "We do the things other people can't imagine doing so they won't have to. We make the sacrifices so our families and friends have a safe world to live in." He looks towards me and rests a comforting hand on my shoulder. In the flickering light of the fire I can see his hazel eyes are more gold than green, and they're so honest. "We can't loose ourselves in our efforts. We have to stay true to what we believe and what we fight for."

"The Blight has to end," I agree and close my eyes while trying to digest that and take it to heart. "This isn't even my world though," I breathe after a moment.

"It is now Karie," when he says my name I open my eyes to look at him. "Perhaps one day you'll make a home here and do all the things normal people do, and then you'll look back at your time here aiding the Grey Wardens and you won't regret it. You'll look at your lover's face, your child's, and you would be willing to do it all again in a heart's beat."

"Is that what you think?" I ask in a quiet voice laden with uncertainty.

"I know it to be true," he answers with certainty in those few words. "You and I aren't so different, and that's what I know of myself. I'd do anything to protect the people I love."

I look at my lap and then back up to him before speaking a little stronger now, "The only fights I'd ever been in back home were to help my friends, and I would just get them away from the people that jumped them and take them with me to run and hide."

He smiles fleetingly and reassures, "That's still brave, Karie. You did something. You did something to protect someone you loved. It's just... different now."

I huff a breath and counter, "It's more than just _different_."

"I know," he agrees with a small nod of his head. "There's greater risks, but there's even more at stake now than with any scuffle we've ever had before." He stands and offers me a hand, "On that note, let's get going to save the good people of Redcliffe. Shall we?"

* * *

It's not just as simple as Sloane said our last leg to Redcliffe would be. Randall had triggered a bear trap when he had followed alongside Leliana when she went out for a hunt the next evening for the omnivores' dinner. The poor dog's hind leg was nearly snapped in half, and after me and Morrigan set it and wrapped it, it became quickly clear that we needed more basic supplies for our injury kits - like clean linens and catgut for sutures - then we had, even with Bodahn's supplies. We had to stop somewhere to trade. We came across a farmhouse with smoke billowing not out of the windows and doors, but the chimney by noon and it was a miracle. With a combination of Sten's intimidating silhouette and Sloane and Leliana's quick smiles the man of the house, with a rusted sword in one hand, allowed us to barter and even buy a lunch with his family.

The place was barren of anything homely - no family portraits, paintings or trinkets on the walls or mantle as if they'd already sold anything of value - or got it stolen. The woman in the house, the sister-in-law of the man that Sloane and Bodahn were trading with, went to help Morrigan with Randall under her supervision. I just hope Morrigan's at least civil with her - the woman looks absolutely washed out and despondent, but the farmer has the supplies we need for the dog.

I'm standing awkwardly by the unlit fireplace unsure of what to do with myself when I spot a boy, probably around seven or eight, sitting on the packed-dirt floor with an old violin in his lap. He's just plucking at the strings with a frown deeply etched into his dirt-stained face. Curious and concerned at the same time, I squat near him and smile slightly before speaking, "Hi, I'm Karie. What's your name?"

He blinks up at me with large, sad green eyes, "Tracker," he mumbles.

I point at the poor excuse for a violin and ask, "Do you want help with that? I know how to play."

He looks down at it for a long moment before handing it over to me. I sit fully on the dirt-for-floor and start tuning the violin with the boy just sitting next to me and quietly looking at me and what I'm doing. "Do you know how to play?" I ask once the silence is just too unnaturally long when in a child's presence.

I see him shake his messy blond mop of hair before muttering, "I' was father's. He said I'd learn when I'm big."

I don't need an explanation on that little fact, and in turn say a quiet, "Oh."

A heartbeat more passes before the kid, Tracker, speaks up again, "You soun' funny." I look to him when he says this and he looks as embarrassed as any kid can be. I smile and he blurts, "An' you look funny."

A tiny laugh free of sadness escapes my throat - it's the first time I've laughed in who-knows-how-long. "I'm not from around here," I reply with a smile in my voice. "Have you been brave for your mom-mother and uncle?" He nods eagerly while he straightens his shoulders visibly, "Do you know those bad, ugly creatures called darkspawn in the woods?"

He nods again and says, "Fa-father said he saw some before 'e left for the Harte's. He said ta stay inside no matter what."

I frown a bit, "If things get too bad you and your family are gonna have to go north. It's safer up there - the darkspawn are coming from the south. Do you understand? The darkspawn are mean and can hurt you if you don't run away from them. It's safer in the north."

He nods eagerly again, "North."

I smile again and hand him back his father's violin. "If you have to leave - go north. And you be brave for your mommy and uncle and stay safe, okay?"

He nods again, "Thanks lady."

We leave this family after buying a lunch of boiled potatoes, pickled eggs (which I didn't eat), and something like hardtack we left towards Redcliffe - an estimated four days away with Randall healing nicely in the back of the cart with fresh sutures, medicinal oils and paste, and fresh bandages and splint on his leg. I only hope this family survives the Blight - I know I'll keep this kid, Tracker, in the back of my mind for him breaking through my melancholy spell and giving me a reason to smile and laugh. I'd nearly felt incapable of doing so.

* * *

Redcliffe looks picturesque in person. At least it does until we get to the village proper and see all the carnage. There's abandoned houses and stables with broken doors and gates, a giant pyre with unidentifiable bodies laying in it giving everything a fine coating of dust, and then there's sick and injured people huddled together near to the tired, sweat and bloodstained few with weapons. The whole place smells of ash, decay, and body odor. It looks worse than I had imagined – and with Aereweld's memories of battle-time, I had a lot to guess on before seeing this place in person.

Alistair had taken my advice and hesitantly told his birth history to our companions just before we reached the hills surrounding the village. He looked scared then, but now, seeing all this, he looks absolutely horrified. I'm sure he's seen bad things in his life until this point, but I don't think he was quite prepared to see his hometown in this state. Things go with Teagan just how I'd remembered them from the game, even his shock at seeing Alistair. Alistair's face lifts for just a moment in his uncle's presence, before Teagan tells us what needs to be done before nightfall. The air of desperation is more permeating here than it was ever portrayed to be in the game.

"Karie, do you know how this battle will go here tonight?" Sloane asks me over his shoulder while we're still standing around Teagan in the dusty, humid Chantry.

"The skeletons will come down the hill from the castle and from the lake," I hold my hands together to prevent any nervous twitching while I recount what I can remember. It was so long ago that I'd played it, but I think I remember this part well enough. "We can defeat them. It's even possible to do it without any deaths."

"Do you know how?" Sloane prompts and I nod. He then turns back to Bann Teagan with a confidence in his stance and his chin held high. "There you have it. We'll go prepare the men."

"How can she possibly know that, Commander?" Teagan asks Sloane while he's looking at me curiously.

"Karie here is a seer of sorts," Sloane explains while sending a quick wink my way. 'Seer of sorts,' I guess that it explains it well enough. "I'd take her word seriously," he adds.

"A seer?" The Bann quirks a brow while a small smile flits across his face, "The Maker has graced us with good fortune indeed."

* * *


	14. Chapter 14

I was wrong. I was so incredibly wrong that it _hurts_ me sharper than any blade to see what's the result of my stupid certainty. Did I think I'd had omnipotent abilities granted by a modicum of omniscient knowledge that I possess? Well, I don't. I'm just a dumbass that thought everything would be as simple as it would be in the game. You can't save everyone. You just can't. It's impossible. We'd lit the oil on fire, or at least Morrigan did from her position on the hill with Sloane, Sten, and Randall. We'd broken off in two groups to bolster the strengths of the villager's numbers, even after doing those stupid little tasks the men had us do, and in the game increased our chances of playing this part perfectly. Perfect - is there even a sensible application of that word? There isn't, and people are dying amongst horrible screams and lances of blood that will stay with me always because I was foolish to believe in that word's truth. Perfect, it's a load of crap.

The damned walking skeletons we're fighting are attacking with a ferocity I've only ever seen before in zombie movies. The absolute and consuming horror of having to fight these things while ensuring that our skin is still attached to our bones is impossible to imagine etched into a man's face until you see it in person. It's chaos. Most of these men and women fighting are green - greener than I am with the knowledge gifted to me by an ancient elf, who I swear upon Elgar'nan himself I'll name my firstborn after if I just make it out of this alive. Blighted wolves and half-starved bandits have nothing on demonic skeletons powered by an ill spirit of desire granting them movement through a tear in the fabric of the Beyond the spirit's holding open with the tendrils of a deal it'd brokered with a mage-blooded child as the vice. I will _gladly_ see to that thing's end, again, if I survive this damned night!

The skeletons' rusted weapons are fused to their very hands and arms, and instead of blood they leak gases from their decomposing flesh and bones. They keep attacking you even when you cut them off at the legs. Some still have their own flesh hanging off in loose, slimy chunks from weapons and fight with both their eyes gone and their sight absent. They can sense us through the powers granted to them by the spirit and the curse giving them movement to do the spirit's bidding. Both my aura of pain and my life draining abilities are utterly useless. They have no working nerves with which to feel pain, and have no life source sustaining them and there for me to drain. I'm relying on a mixture of my own adrenaline-fueled fear, unable to fully be consumed by the blood magic inserted into my flesh due to the inability to properly utilize its well of power, but able to feed off of the inherent blind anger gifted to any reaver regardless of how they'd obtained the abilities. The skeletons are nearly indomitable. Every ally that falls as a result of my stupidity is resurrected as an enemy to attack those that still possess their lives. We're loosing _many_ people. Their life-ending screams rend through the air on a terrible, unnatural wind as the spirit feeds off of their life sources in their defeat. The skeletons are mindless, and they will not stop.

It's hours of mindlessness and too many injuries to count before I can see just the smallest pink and yellow wisping tendrils of breaking sunrise peak over the horizon, and with it a dwindling number of enemies. I had discovered by then that the freshly dead bodies still possessed residual life-giving energies in them that I could take to fuel my own with my own cursed abilities granted by dark magic. It was fucked up, but I survived. I was whole enough to ensure that none in my party perished, and was able to attempt to properly see after the men and women in my general area and entrusted into my care by Sloane. In this world the curse of blood magic is a gift. It is for me at least. It's dangerous, and it hurts every time it awakens, but it's kept me alive and I'm incredibly thankful for just that small benefit.

By the time the skeleton's numbers lessened so we had a chance of eradicating them, at least here this night, I had saved my last life of the starting morning. There was a man shaking with the last dregs of adrenaline, barely able to lift his sword, only to have a crazed skeleton sneak on him while he was removing his helmet and wiping the sweat off of his face. The skeleton bit off the man's ear before I could even attempt to wrestle it off of him, and together me and the man managed to crush the thing's skull until the creature was no longer moving. Even whole heads broken off at the neck would still try to bite at you until you broke through the skull.

The soft light of the rising sun brings with it an end to the near-endless sea of undead vying for our lives. It's a fucking miracle. I feel the sticky sting of un-healed injuries burning with sweat beneath my armor and the weight of my sword, despite the runes reducing its weight and hindrances to speed, heavy in my hand when I collapse to the ground on my weakened knees in complete relief for the battle's end. We'd fought the entire night - hours upon hours of skeletons attacking and me relying near-solely on Aereweld's knowledge to keep my head attached to my shoulders. And hours of the sight of men and women's deaths because of my ignorance and assurances as a _seer_ that all would be well. I'm a dumbass, and I hate myself for it. These people are _real_ and I'm _really_ here and I shouldn't be so stupid as to put their very _lives_ at risk. Maybe I am crazy.

"Milady seer," Alistair smiles weakly and collapses onto his knees beside me. The guy's fitter than half the men and women here, and he looks completely worn. "I think you got the last one."

Instead of weeping for joy, I weep in grief - so many people lost their lives tonight. Maybe they would've been better without me here? "I was wrong Alistair," I whisper brokenly into his chestplate with a bowed head heavy with the lives I've taken with my own hands nights before and those I've taken with my ignorance. The memory of Tracker and his innocence isn't even enough to lessen the weight those lives place on me.

"What do you mean you were wrong? We survived," he replies with a hesitant hand on my back.

"I said everyone would live, and they didn't," I admit.

After a pause long enough for me to start to feel the fatigue seeping into my bones from the fight and my unnatural sitting position, I hear Alistair reply, "You told people what they needed to hear. You gave them faith like we did with the Chantry's amulets."

I look up at him slightly surprised by the maturity of his words, though they're wrong. "No. They died because I was stupid enough to think they wouldn't."

"Get up you lazy Blighters!" Sloane says too loud and too cheerily next to us and interrupts our conversation. "There's blankets in the Chantry we can pass out on!"

In my exhaustion, both mentally and physically, I'm weak to the elf as he pulls me along and into the Chantry. Despite the state of things I promptly pass out on a thread-bare poor excuse for a blanket wracked with my own guilt and pain at seeing the results of my ignorance first-hand.

Everything is just mechanical when I wake up some odd hours later and only thinking on the lessons Aereweld had taught me. Poor weapon maintenance was a surefire way to see to your own demise when your very livelihood relied so heavily on it. I manage to coax Randall into letting me use him as a back rest while I set myself to cleaning my sword and armor. I have the need for comfort, and I'll take it even from Sloane's dog.

"May I join you milady?" I hear an unfamiliar voice say to me, and I turn my head to blink up at... Teagan. Why would he want to chat with me? To blame me for his people's deaths? Where's Alistair? Why won't he speak to him or Sloane?

"I-I guess," I stutter unsure of myself.

He sits heavily near me on the floor, and sets the sword he carries carefully across his lap, rag in hand, before he turns to speak to me next, "I had wanted to thank you for all your aid. Without you and the Wardens, I fear we would not have survived the night." He says this kindheartedly with a small, charming smile on his face making him almost look innocent and younger than he is. I know why some fangirls called him the 'Bannhammer' now. I will not say that aloud – ever.

I feel a blush creep up on my cheeks at my thoughts, and only hope that the blood magic lines in my skin will cover it well. "I-I'm glad we'd helped," I answer unsure of what to say. Maybe it's true they wouldn't have all survived if we hadn't been here. "And that you think we made a difference."

"Why your lot did," he assures. "You all convinced our blacksmith to open shop, and inspired the men to defend their homes with a fervency that they've not had for some time in our battles. We won the battle last night, I assure you." He smiles kindly at me, and with his words I feel some of the guilt fade away from my tired muscles. "Are you a Grey Warden as well?" he asks me conversationally while setting to work on moving the rag against his sword.

"No," I answer shortly and try to reign in my natural awkwardness and the self-doubt I've felt since the start of the battle. I set myself on a conversation with a complete stranger, and not my troubling thoughts, before continuing after a moment. "Sloane, ah, recruited me to help," I explain vaguely.

"And so you are," he smiles again. "Are you close with Alistair? If you don't mind my prying, milady."

I pinch my lips to the side in thought a moment. "Yeah. I... guess I am." I pause a bit before elaborating, "I know you're his kinda-sorta uncle, if that's what you're curious about."

"You know of his parentage?" Both the Bann's brows are raised and he's looking at me in noticeable surprise.

"Yep, I've known for awhile."

His hands still on his sword, "If you don't mind my asking, does that not affect your decision?"

I blink in complete confusion, and blurt, "What?" unintelligently.

"To be involved with him romantically," he clarifies patiently.

"What? No, I'm-" My voice turns shrill. Why would Teagan ever think that? I spend no more time with Alistair than with anyone else. "I'm just the guy's friend!" I feel my face warm in another embarrassed flush, "I don't even like Alistair like that," I explain in a more normal-toned voice.

"Every bloke wants to wake up and hear a woman shriek that," I hear Alistair groan, and I turn my head to see him wiping at his face sleepily. My face still burns beneath the lines embedded there.

I think I'm very red and very embarrassed right now. "Oh my God," I mumble quickly. "You're like the little brother I've never had."

"Little brother?" Alistair repeats disbelievingly.

Damn Teagan for getting me so embarrassed over something so nonsensical. "You're very much brother material."

"She prefers elves," Sloane smugly remarks while he plops down by his mabari's face to scratch him between the ears. "Isn't that right, my dear?"

I push him on the shoulder. He doesn't budge. I have no strength without use of the blood magic. "I told you I didn't mean it like that!" I huff. "You all are picking on me," I grumble. "I hate you all."

"I don't believe that for a moment," Sloane's smile is even more smug. "You love each of us dearly." I push him again. Fucker's right, but he doesn't have to be an ass about it.


	15. Chapter 15

The camaraderie I'd felt amongst Teagan, Alistair, and Sloane keep me feeling lighthearted when we all pitched in to help once everyone was awake and functional enough to do more than walk in a stupor. I was partnered up with Morrigan with the healing. I had the remnants of a small smile on my face even when the witch had me help her set a dislocated shoulder. I'd felt the smile grow with the patient when he'd recounted his tale even after we'd splinted his ankle too. It was strange to think of, but I felt just a bit better after being with the injured for a time. They might've been dead if Sloane hadn't gotten us here so quickly. Who's to say that if we'd been later we'd have less villagers to work with, and we would've lost more in the ensuing battle due to being even more outnumbered? I was wrong to think we could save everyone, but we did save some. Perhaps that's all I should expect - here and elsewhere. Sloane seems set on keeping me around, and maybe I should try to adopt his attitude in regards to people's lives - we can't save everyone but we'll try out damnedest. I'll try to believe that, but it's difficult to really put my heart into that sentiment while I walk through the village square and see the dried pools of blood on the dirt and grasses from allies who've lost their lives. I was an idiot to lead them to believe they'd all survive. If their surviving relatives and loved ones blame me for their demise, I won't hold it against them.

Teagan lead us to the windmill for secrecy's sake to plan for entering the castle. I was too busy looking out from the edge of the hill down at the village's square, having been drawn to the damage and destruction and in turn weighing my failures, to really give Teagan my full attention. When Isolde came down the path with a deeply depressed and frightened expression, wearing nothing more than a pair of silk slippers and a disheveled dress, I tried to warn the Bann against going with her. I told him she was hiding something, Sloane too urged him to stay as well, but he still left with his sister-in-law to the castle... and the spirit of desire hiding in Connor's body. It was a chilling thought that a child harbored such a thing. The tear in the Veil gives everything a cold, unnatural feel and it's seeping into my bones from the blood magic lines in my skin and awakening the predator-prey response inherent in every being. We're the prey here to this ill spirit, I must not forget that.

Randall is still recovering, only haven broken his leg days before this battle and even with some magical healing and potent herbs to speed his healing to unnatural states he is still weakened, and so Sloane ordered Sten to watch after his mabari and wait outside the gates until we could grant them entrance on the other side. Sloane didn't want to risk any unnecessary injury, and decided that two rogues, two warriors, and a mage equated a balanced enough group for a successful infiltration. That's how they think of people here - warriors, rogues, mages. I'm a warrior now, aren't I? That thought has never really meant something tangible until now. Now I'm fighting to save others, and not just myself. The things done to me shaped me into this, and I'm going to use it. I'm going to listen to Sloane. I'm going to try to follow his direction, after all, he's _the Warden_ here and he has more chance of success than any of us.

There's a handful of skeletons in the dungeons, but once Morrigan shapes herself into a giant spider and immobilizes them for us, they're easy pickings. I don't strike them though, instead I'm drawn to the area I know Jowan to be at. I find him in a small cell at the end of the hall wearing nothing but torn trousers and in a state of filth that's repulsive - there's blood and dirt even visible in his overgrown facial hair in the dim lighting. He scurries to his knees when he sees me and stares at me with piercing eyes until he shuffles forward to reach a mud-crusted hand through the bars of his cell.

"Help me! Please! I don't belong here!" he begs.

"You're Jowan," and it's almost as much of a statement as it is a question.

"Y-you know me?" He stutters and looks me over once more. "You don't look like one of the guards... and you... you feel different."

What the hell does he mean by that? "I know of you," I explain after staring at him in silence maybe a moment too long while I try to figure him out. "I know what you did." I accuse him with a half-hearted glare. I'd played a Circle mage before in the game - I know what he did both in the Circle and in the castle.

"You mean with the Arl?" He licks his dry, cracked lips and moves closer to the cell's bars, "I didn't summon the demon! You must believe me!"

"Karie? What's going on? Who is this?" Sloane asks me from where he's come up to stand beside me.

I look over towards Sloane with a slight nervous twitch of my hands for what I'm about to explain. "Jowan was a Circle mage before he used blood magic to try and escape with his girlfriend. I don't know how long it was, but eventually Loghain hired him to poison Eamon. Jowan's here because Isolde hired him to teach Connor how to hide his magic."

"He's a blood mage?" Alistair seethes, and I turn my head to see him glaring at the cell. "But... wait. You said Connor's a mage? How can that be?" He asks with more befuddlement than anger.

"How is it that you know all that?" I hear Jowan whisper, but I choose to keep my attention focused on Alistair.

"Connor's... a late bloomer," I turn towards Alistair to better speak with him. "Isolde doesn't want to send him to the Circle. She thought he could hide it, but... but Connor did all this. When his dad got sick from Jowan, Connor was scared and... and I don't think he knows the difference between good and bad spirits."

"I did not think the well of power possessing a hold over this place was brokered by this fool," Morrigan comments with a gesture in Jowan's direction to my back. "He does not have the characteristics of one possessed." I know from Aereweld that mages can sense disturbances in the Beyond, and that the blood magic in my skin allows me to feel some of it too - more than a non-mage, and as much as a Templar, I think.

"Wait..." Alistair takes a step forward with his head slightly tilted between me and Morrigan. "Are you saying Connor made a deal with a demon?"

"A spirit of desire," I nod my head. "The spirit chose to bond with him instead of possess him all the way. He's not an abomination."

All of a sudden feel something wet and warm grab a hold of the nape of my neck. It startles me, and I try to pull away only to have the blood magic embedded into my skin awaken with a sharp lance of pain and immobilize me momentarily. The next thing I know I have Leliana's arms around my shoulders, and her whispering something in French to the top of my head. When my vision focuses, I see one of Sloane's daggers pinning one of Jowan's hands to the packed dirt floor, and Alistair's sword at Jowan's throat with a white smoke around the two. Did he just smite him? Is that what I'm seeing?

"What happened?" I ask to no one in particular in a raspy voice.

"He tired to harm you, mon ami," Leliana explains.

"That's how you know!" Jowan shouts with a crazed look about him. "The blood magic! It has to be! How else would you know? You're not a mage!"

"Shut it blood mage! Don't you move," Alistair growls and visibly presses his sword firmer on Jowan's throat.

"Wait! No, no!" Jowan begs and lifts his uninjured hand pleadingly. "I didn't do it! I swear I didn't do it! Please! I didn't mean it!"

"Let us not postpone the killing of this pathetic excuse of a mage any longer," Morrigan sighs. "I bore of him and his ceaseless begging."

"No, I say we leave him here as a snack for the demon," Sloane stands and sheathes his blade after wiping it of Jowan's blood on his leg. "We know all we need to," he looks briefly over to me and I wonder what he sees before he looks back towards Jowan with Alistair still towering over him. "We don't need any undue blood on our hands."

"I say we have enough of a reason," Alistair grumbles, but also sheathes his blade with a hateful glare still directed at the guy bent over on the dirty floor of his cell.

Sloane shakes his head, "We need to get a move on. There's a child playing with a demon, and that's most certainly not good."


	16. Chapter 16

I'm watching Jowan bleed. Well, he's watching himself bleed too if the subtle tilt to his head is any indication behind his knotted, greasy locks that are obscuring his expression from my view. He's letting the dark blood pool in his hand before it splatters to the filthy dungeon floor in fat drops, and I can't help but to wonder why he's doing this. Alistair just smote him, and can't blood mages use their own blood to replenish their mana pools even after a smiting? I don't know for certain, even with Aereweld's memories always in the back of my head. Aereweld studied life preservation and the intricacies of the Beyond, and not the power gained from a life's source. She worked to understand life and its facets, and not use it for one's own power. She was not a blood mage, but she had a literary understanding of it. There were no Templars in her time though. I'm just not sure what's going on in Jowan's head to keep him from trying to escape. He just lashed out at me, didn't he? And he had to have escaped more than just one Templar to get to this point anyway.

But Leliana's urging me along at Sloane's encouragement, and I subconsciously touch the back of my neck where Jowan had held it just minutes ago while we start to walk the dank halls to emerge from the dungeons. The blood lines there still hurt and ache. I don't know what he did. I was just babbling, and then... I don't know. I take one last fleeting glance at Jowan's crumpled form to see him carefully curl his still bleeding hand to his chest and then back away from the cell's rusty iron bars and completely from my sight.

Soon such thoughts and worries are pushed aside when the undead emerge from abandoned rooms and from behind overturned furniture to attack us in mass. There's nothing more to our journey than cutting, running, and fighting with all reserves of strength we may have. I feel like an entirely different person when the blood rage and the heat of the battle overcomes me. I'm not myself in those moments - I'm a shadow of an ancient Dalish mage's memories intermixed with some blood mages' experiment. Not _me_ at all. How can I still be myself and yet feel pleased at the sight of desiccated corpses?

We find the blacksmith's daughter soon after. I knew she was hiding in a closet, but I just couldn't remember _which_ closet until we hear her whimpers after a particularly gruesome fight that didn't leave a single one of us unscathed. I can't heal myself with the undead very well. I'm starting to think one of my wrists is fractured, and that I might have a few cracked ribs. It hurts even through the receding high of adrenaline. Despite this though, I volunteer to go with Leliana and escort the girl back to the secret passage in the dungeons. At least one of us has to go with her, and it'd be better if there were two. I'm sure Leliana is more than capable given her history, but my damned conscious got in the way at the sight of the teenager clinging to Leliana's leathers as if they were physical insurances to her own complete safety. Leliana will have her hands full with just her alone, let alone hordes of walking skeletons hiding in every corner of this place. There's no way we could've actually killed them all on our way here. There's just too many. Sloane needs the more capable fighters with him anyway, and so I'm the first to volunteer to go with them. I'll be the heavy hitter and Leliana will be the security. I'm okay with that.

"Should we double back the same way?" I ask Leliana with my hand already fisted around the hilt of my sword, still in its scabbard. I'm anxious to have this all done with already. I'd be happy not to see another walking skeleton ever again.

"We can try for now," the redhead nods. "Though the sounds of battle may not have been a deterrent with these creatures. It may have enticed them to seek us out. We should use caution mon ami."

"Can't we just wait until they leave?" The girl whimpers from beside Leliana with one of the most fearful expressions I've seen on a person. Her eyes are wide and brimmed with tears framed in a sickly pale face and sweat streaked hair.

"They won't just go," I say. "Not yet. We need to get you outta here."

We walk through the destroyed halls and rooms in a line while we retrace our steps. I'm in front following the trail of re-killed skeletons with Velena behind me and then Leliana in the back with her bow in her hands - ready to pull the string back and loose an arrow at a moment's notice. I have my hand on my sword, and the blood magic webs in my skin itch with anticipation. We only find a couple living corpses shuffling and groaning in doorways and corners though. Leliana kills these silently and with an ease that makes her a true marksman. She kills them before the blacksmith's daughter's upset cries and whimpers can give us away. I feel utterly useless by the time we reach the heavy double wooden doors leading down to the dungeons. But then the creak of the rusted iron hinges while we muscle the door open gives us away. A half a dozen or so corpses rush out of the now opened door and from an adjacent room off the side of the hall. Alarm bells go off in my head at the sight of them all - some are still mostly whole with butcher's knives and improvised weapons in their decaying hands. One's an elven child with a fireplace poker in her hands and deadened, white eyes. I think I'm going to vomit.

Velena screams an ear-piercing scream and dashes behind the now opened door to hide. I feel the burn of the blood magic igniting my reserves of power with a sharp, now familiar, lance of pain, and soon it's all a senseless blur of sword-in-bone and quick moments that I had no idea I was capable of until fighting became a necessary part of my daily routine. I get bashed into the side of my helm by a heavy skillet that momentarily stops the filter of information from my subconscious and the _need_ to keep fighting that's seeping into me from my very skin. I take a mace to the shoulder for my disorientation, and the sticky hot blood of my own that's now freely mixing with the now open blood magic lines _burns me_. That's the only word I have for it, and next I know I have the mace-wielding corpse's rancid blood and decomposing innards coating my hands and face from my sword. It takes my boot and several stomps for the corpse to stop moving altogether even though it was flayed open. Then another skeleton tackles me from behind and launches me over my most recent kill. I smack my chin into the stone of the floor and wrestle to get my sword back into my hands through my renewed dizziness. There's pain building from behind my eyes as my previous injuries creak under the weight of the skeleton on my back as it tries futilely to find an opening in my armor for which it to get to my flesh. I feel my skin shredding beneath its nails when it finds purchase in the exposed and vulnerable side of my neck, and then it goes suddenly still with me trapped beneath and without a single sound to signify why.

It's dead, I gather that much, and I swallow roughly to try and calm my racing heart, before I push up with my hands, more weight on one than the other, to get the skeleton off of me. The white fletching of one of Leliana's arrows lodged into the back of its skull signifies that she'd killed it for me before it could put an end to me itself. If Leliana didn't judge the distance right, and the strength needed to just pierce the thing's head, I could've been hurt via friendly fire. I'm so thankful she knows what she's doing. She's crouched near the door though, and I can still hear the girl alive and crying behind it.

"Thanks," I mumble awkwardly and stumble over towards the two - the girl's re-adhered herself to Leliana's side in the time it takes me to get there. I'm still bleeding, but it's a dull pain. I'll find a freshly skilled corpse soon enough to heal myself with, I'm sure. That's still a disturbing thought.

"Maker! You saved me!" The girl cries out and distracts me from my own concerns when she begins wailing anew. She's clinging to Leliana and crying into her leathers, and Leliana is trying to hush her.

We start up walking again once Velena's able to get her feet under her, and she's quiet enough that she won't give us away too much. She's upset, understandably so, and I don't begrudge her for acting the way she is. I was no better when I had similarly suddenly found myself in danger and was without a clue for what to do.

The moldy and stale musk of the dungeons hits us hard the further down we go through the winding, narrow halls and steep stair cases, but no more corpses pop out of hidden shadows. There's few side rooms and halls off of this route, and we had cleared everything out well enough it seems. We're back in the last hall of the furthest, filthiest cells before the secret entrance before we come across just two corpses that hardly give us any trouble - they were little more than animated bones with daggers. I glance at Jowan's cell for the briefest of moments before we run past on the last bit to get the girl to safety.

"Here! This is the exit," Leliana breathes relieved, before I help her to pry the door built into the wall open.

"I can't go in there alone," the girl squeaks.

"You can and you shall," Leliana smiles with a gentle pull on the girl's hand to get her closer to the door. "We cannot come with you, but you will not be alone whilst following this path. Allow the Maker to shelter you and protect you in these last few moments to your freedom. You will be safe under His care." Velena whimpers, but nods sadly and complies. She gives Leliana a quick hug before she leaves the dungeons completely. She seemed to be quite attached to her rather quickly.

We both take a moment to catch our breaths before we lock up the secret door again, and start up on traveling the same path now for the third time. We're just even more injured and tired now. Hopefully there's less corpses though. There's that. Sloane, Alistair, and Morrigan should have found the courtyard by now, I think. We need to hurry if we wanna catch up before they reach Connor.

"Wait," I put a hand on Leliana's elbow to stop her from walking further as we approach Jowan's cell again. "Can you pick that lock?" I ask and point towards the wrought iron mechanism holding the cell's door closed.

"Yes, of course," Leliana raises one delicate brow. "But why should I? He is a blood mage, non?"

"Think of it as a favor," I reply quickly, "I'd totally owe you one. What ever you want. Promise."

"Why do you want him released? He harmed you," she frowns.

"I know that, but he can help us," I shift my weight in a tell-tale way to show I'm just the slightest bit unsure. He had his stupid moments in the game, but he was nothing if not helpful. "Please?"

Leliana squints her eyes in scrutiny and possibly disbelief for a long moment. "I will do this for you," she finally agrees, but I hear the unsaid 'but you'll owe me' loud and clear.

All I can see of Jowan is his steely eyes in the dark shadow cast in the back of his cell while Leliana sets to work on the lock. It takes her less than a minute of working the lock before the loud and sharp _click_ of the lock sliding free sounds out through the quiet of the place. I push the door open then and step cautiously in. This is probably a bad idea, on second thought. The blood magic lines in my skin are restless in his presence.

"Have you decided to kill me?" Jowan asks in a rough, broken whisper and it strikes me that this man is _afraid_ of me, and that just isn't right. No one's frightened of me, well, unless you're a darkspawn or a demon imbued skeleton, then maybe you should be.

"No, no," I shake my head and crouch in front of him with my empty hands outstretched. "I wanna set you free, only if you promise to help us... and not hurt me again. Ever," I add as an afterthought. "Desire's stronger than I thought. Have you seen how many bodies the spirit has resurrected? Can't you feel how torn the Veil's fabric is?"

"Yes, but..." He blinks with wide eyes and then asks, again, in a hushed voice, " _How do you know this?_ "

"It's a long story and has somethin' to do with three blood mages and a Dalish Arcane Warrior." I shake my head, "You remember those two men from earlier that I was with? They're Grey Wardens and we're fighting the Blight. This mess doesn't mean anythin' compared to that. Do you understand? We need to get Redcliffe settled before we can move on. There's a whole horde of darkspawn out there." Wow. I guess Sloane really has influenced my way of thinking about this situation with all his talk in recent days.

"And you want _my_ help?" He leans forward just slightly with his question.

"Yes, please." I look down to my gloved hands, and after a brief moment's hesitation I remove one of my gloves and reach out to his wounded hand in a gesture of kindness. It looks like Sloane had cut straight through. When the blood magic lines in my skin make contact with just a bit of his blood though it stings, but now I understand. "I get it. The lines in my skin react to blood magic. You were already bleeding earlier when you touched me." Like the three blood mages were bleeding when they had done whatever it was they were doing, and it hurt. A lot. I look up to Jowan then and keep eye contact when I offer a bit of insight, "I was made into a reaver by a cult of blood mages. I'm not afraid of you, and I want your help."

He swallows harshly and after two times of trying to speak, he finally does. "I will need to heal myself first."

"Use my blood," I offer without hesitation. He looks more than wary, so I clarify, "I'm used to it." The blood mages that brought me here did much worse than using a little of my own blood for their needs after all.

He reaches his cold, dampened hand slowly to the open scratches on the side of my neck, and then everything blankets out in a white haze of pain and aching that lasts for a mere handful of seconds before it suddenly stops with an odd sense of loss. I open my eyes blearily to see a fire that was not present in Jowan's gaze now blazing through the stormy grey of his eyes. He looks immensely better, still filthy, but there's an aura of power and strength about him now. I can see why he'd survived as long as he has as a blood mage with this confident set to his shoulders and self-assurance in his very being.

"I will help you now. You have my word." He wipes the blood off his hand and onto the fabric of his trousers. "Now may I know your name?" His voice sounds different too, clearer and more refined even. He must've been in a bad state before, and for some reason wasn't using his abilities to his advantage.

"I'm Karie." I move to slowly stand and wobble ever so slightly on my feet. I feel drained, and I ache and am still very much injured from earlier, but I can still carry on with the residual strength afforded to me by the blood magic in my skin. "C'mon. We have to get to the others. The ill spirit is gonna attack them with its thralls... And I need to find something to kill. Like right now. I need to heal myself."

"I am sure we will find a corpse for your use," Leliana says from behind me and reminds me of her presence. "On the way, of course. We must make haste. I worry for our Warden friends."

"The Wardens who had wanted to either kill me or leave me for dead?" Jowan laughs self-depreciatingly and too stands. I wonder if we can find his things too? He could do with some robes and a staff. "This ought to be interesting."


	17. Chapter 17

I think I'm a bad reaver. Aren't reavers supposed to feel stronger or more revitalized or some shit with the more injuries they sustain? Then how come I feel like complete and utter crap? It hurts with every breath I take, I'm dizzy, and it's more difficult then it should be to put one foot in front of the other and walk in a straight line. It's because of these damned demon-spawn skeletons that are resistant to my abilities, and the fact that I let Jowan use blood magic on me, isn't it? Well, shit. I finally figure out how to handle myself, and the situation prevents me from being of any use - again. I hate this feeling of being useless, a liability. I try to help, really I do, but I seem to keep getting in over my head.

"You don't look well." I blink owlishly at the softly spoken words in an attempt to clear my head, and look up despite the haze clouding my senses to see Jowan looking at me with a concerned furrow to his dark brow. This coming from the guy that was just sitting in a rat shit strewn dungeon cell for who-know-how-long after being tortured enough to make him paranoid and gave him those gruesome looking brands and linear striking scars I recognize as whip marks on his sides, shoulders, and arms. Probably his back too, but I can't see that with him standing all statuesque next to me, and with that look on his face I don't think I want to ogle his injuries just so I can see how the blood magic healed him but left the scars...

Wait. I didn't respond, did I? What'd he ask again? "Huh?" I reply while I'm trying to figure out what that tattoo there on his bicep is...

"You do not appear to be in the best of health," he replies with a measure of patience and a deeper furrow of his brow. His tone's a bit condescending, isn't it?

"No shit Sherlock," I snap and inwardly cringe at myself when I hear how that must sound. Damned bitchy-

"Am I supposed to know what that means?" He sighs. "Now you're loosing lucidity. I shouldn't have used your blood. A moment of weakness that I promise won't happen again."

"Oh, shut up," I mumble without any anger or malice behind those words. I'm exhausted and I hurt - equates moody-Karie. I look towards Leliana when my last good thought resurfaces again. "Leliana, if the guards kept Jowan's things, where would they put 'em?"

She tucks a bit of ruddy hair behind her ear before she replies. "If they did not already dispose of them? A storage chest perhaps?" She nods to herself, "I will look, and I will also see if I can locate a health poultice for your use, Karie. You cannot continue in this state. I will not be long." She squeezes my shoulder briefly and companionably in reassurance before she dashes down one of the side halls, only after sending a scathing look of obvious warning Jowan's way. I sit heavily on a crate to ease my aching muscles, and I bring my non-injured hand to my side where my ribs are creaking beneath the weight of my armor. After I see Jowan pacing slightly out of the corner of my eye and I frown harshly at his clipped movements.

I look up at him and meet his eyes after a short moment and he just blurts, "Why are you doing this?"

I raise a brow in confusion and feel that frown deepen ever so slightly in response, "Doing what now?"

"Asking for my help, freeing me, letting yourself be used for a blood sacrifice?" With each thing he lists he takes a step in his pacing as if to enunciate each, "All sorts of mad things people who are right in their heads wouldn't do?" He's pacing two steps forward and two steps back now, and the repetitive motion is starting to irritate me a bit.

"Are you callin' me crazy?" My lips twist into an expression mirroring the irony of it all. "I probably am, but it's not your fault. And besides... I didn't think it was right to leave you for a snack for the skeletons and the spirit. I know how you ended up here, you know. I think I get it."

He leans back on his heels and crosses his arms across his bared, scared chest and says with suspicion lacing his voice, "And what do you expect of me in return for your kindness?"

"You to kill shit?" I feel my face crinkle at the implications of his question. This conversation is starting to worsen my aches and pains. "What else? I thought I already explained all that." He doesn't trust me, he doesn't know me, and he doesn't understand my motivations. I guess I haven't explained everything well enough then.

He's still pacing and the short, choppy steps combined with the hunch to his shoulders betray the thoughts that he's trying to keep silent on. I can only guess as to what's going on in his head. Probably nothing I'd actually like to hear. I'm kinda glad he's keeping quiet about whatever it is, but after a minute or so, he does reveal something of what he's thinking. "You set me free..." He trails off and takes a deep breath, "Can you guarantee my freedom?" He looks to me then, and instead of the fire that was blazing behind his gaze, there's a worry and doubt shadowing them in darkness.

"I think..." My gaze slides to the floor briefly in thought when I can't bare to look at that broken expression any longer. "I have a few ideas. I should be able to," I attempt to reassure him.

"Then I suppose we'll have to wait and see what comes of all this," he runs a hand through his unkempt hair in frustration and impatience. "I hate the unknown... the waiting. It's unbearable," he admits in a hushed tone.

"You'll be fine," I offer. "You'll just-"

"Wait." He interrupts me abruptly and takes several quick steps towards me with one hand outstretched and waving in an apparently universal hushing motion. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear wha-" I can't even finish a word this time before I break off mid-sentence because of something that hit the base of my neck. It doesn't hurt, but it doesn't feel right. I look down at the afflicted area to see the hilt of a small knife embedded there. I stare at it in complete disbelief and bewilderment while I slowly wrap my leather-clad fingers around its hilt and pull it out of the flesh above my collarbone. My blood is coating my gloved fingers making them slick, and I look up with my mouth hanging open to see an obviously dead knight with a bow at his back standing at the end of the hall nearest to us. I can't hear with the blood rushing in my ears and my vision is starting to turn a little opaque at the sides now too. But I can't focus on anything other than the corpse making to grab his bow and the feeling of my own blood saturating my under tunic. I can't even feel the wound. Then the tendrils of blood magic embedded in my flesh start to tingle at the tips of my fingers before radiating outwards in a sensation that feels more like frostbite than heat. Is this what death feels like?

The lines in my skin alight in that moment with a burn that's more familiar than this consuming coldness. I feel a heat off to my side that's not from my blood magic lines, and then there's a bright flash of light and the anguished cries of the corpse. It's on fire. Jowan set it on fire. The corpse starts _running_ towards us then, and I step into its path. The burn of the blood magic is all consuming and compelling, more so than the flames that lick at my hand and arm when I grab for the skeleton's arm. Instantaneous feelings of pleasure, gratification, and revitalization vie for my complete focus while I drain the residual life from this recently deceased man. The bloody lines in my skin flicker with the energies that flow into them and subsequently filter into the rest of my body to restore it. By the end of it the corpse is little more than a charred husk on the floor, and I realize that damn, there must be a half-decent reaver somewhere in me. I just don't know what the fuck I'm doing until I'm in the middle of doing it.

The familiar sensations fade from my body along with the haze my injuries had originally saddled me with, and I turn to see if Jowan's still all whole. I see that Leliana has come up behind him with a hastily rolled bundle of fabric in her arms, and an ornate wooden and steel staff slung over her shoulder that looks more like a spear than anything else. Those must be Jowan's.

I look over towards him and he has this baffled look about him, but now I'm ready to go. And so is everyone else with Leliana back and well with the things we needed. We have to catch up to the others. Like right now. "Hey," I say in his direction and watch as he visibly straightens himself and clears his throat. "Do you know a shortcut to the front of the castle?"

Jowan clears his throat again, "There's old servant passages that lead from the kitchens to almost everywhere here."

"It seems we are all set then," Leliana adds and walks forward without batting an eye at the scene in front of her. "Lets be quick, shall we?"


	18. Chapter 18

We entered the front chamber to a scene of utter chaos. The others had _definitely_ reached Connor before us. There's just too much going on for me to be able to focus on one thing for longer than a handful of horrifying moments though.

Near to the servant's door we had entered through there's two men... decapitated and gutted. Their lifeless faces are bathed in their own blood, and their innards are threatening to fall out of their splayed open cavities. Their eyes are open too, and the glassy wrongness of the orbs without the spark of life in them send a spike of dread straight through my core. One man's been completely cut through his mouth - severing his jaw and blowing through the back of his skull with ruddy brain matter and shockingly large shards of bone. I'd never seen anything half as disgusting, even the atrocities I've created first-hand, and it instantly awakens my baser instincts, both natural and unnatural. The blood magic pulses in my skin with the rush of fear-induced adrenaline, and I frantically look around for the cause of such a revolting thing. My sight lands on Sten swinging his ridiculously large sword straight through the sternum of another man. Scarlet blood arcs out through the man's back in wide, wet ribbons when the blade cuts through. I watch in horrified fascination as the blood arcs yet again when Sten pulls his blade from the dying man's cavity to splatter it all over the Qunari's sparse armor. Neither the sight of a dying man nor that man's blood phase the giant, and he goes right back to seeking out a new target with heavy, purposeful steps and a posture befitting a warrior his size. Sten exemplifies the aura of a predator. And he still scares the shit out of me.

My gaze swings 'round until I spy Sloane emerging from a dark shadow cast by heavy drapery off to the room's side to then sneak behind another armed and armored man silently. The elf has a steely look of malicious intent hardening his expression within the open face of his helm, and then he brings one of his delicately pointed daggers across the man's neck in a movement too precise and swift for me to follow. But I see the blood flowing freely from the fresh life-ending wound, and Sloane's victim stumbling to the stone of the floor with pained, gurgling gasps. The man futilely tries to stopper his blood with his hands clawing at his neck until he just can't any more. These are _men and women_. Alive and well people - not demon-fed corpses or mummified skeletons. What the fuck? Why are they _killing_ them? This whole thing is wrong. It all looks and feels wrong. The Veil is so thinned here it's almost chilling with its predominant undercurrent of power that feeds the sense of consuming _wrongness_ in this place.

"Somebody _do_ something!" I say in a high-pitched panic-laced voice. I feel hot tears threatening to build behind my eyes at the madness of it all. "They're not supposed to kill them! They're not supposed to die!"

Only after I fear my pleading has fallen onto deaf ears, do I notice that I've latched onto Jowan's thick woolen robes with my hands swallowed up in the dark grey fabric. The man looks at me briefly with a guarded expression not betraying his emotions, before he moves his free hand to my own to effectively remove them from his forearm. Once his hands are free from me, he brings both his hands together, his wide sleeves falling down to his elbows with the movement, and the whole of his hands begin to glow in a faint olive green glowing manifestation of his supernatural powers. Then I notice when one of the stone benches next to the entryway quickly starts to crumble and dissolve into a dust that swirls and hovers above Jowan's hands heedless of gravity and physics. The dust solidifies into a small boulder held aloft by the green glowing magic after a short moment, then one of Jowan's hands snaps forward and so does the boulder through the air as if it was a small rocket, or rather a cannon ball. The mound of hard rock _slams_ into the floor with a painful, sharp crack just slightly away from where Connor's standing with an ethereal red glow to his eyes and an unnatural bend to his neck. He's possessed, that what that looks like - the pale, glowing shadow of a boy with an unsettling expression of warring hate and joy stretching his face at odd angles. A sense of nausea fills the pit of my stomach at the realization. I'd never imagined to see such a thing in person - fictional movies, yes, but not here. Not for real. The instant the boulder collides with the stone floor the boy jolts and falls flat on his back. There's debris scattered over the boy from head-to-toe, and he's unmoving, but everything just... stops.

The men and women who were fighting my friends have stopped all voluntary action, and seemingly fainted with nothing more to their movements than shallow breaths. They fell with their weapons still tightly clutched in their hands. I look around and easily pick out Sloane, Sten, and Morrigan standing with varying degrees of confusion and stunned shock on their faces amongst the unconscious people in the large room who were just fighting them moments before. I hear nothing but Randall's soft whimper while he pads with claws clicking against the floor over towards Sloane in those eery moments. I look about again and I find Alistair off to the side holding a passed-out Teagan by the shoulders. Alistair's helmet is the most elaborate out of our lot, and it's obscuring my view of his expression. I can't discern his thoughts, but he's looking towards Connor even with the rest of his body supporting his uncle's weight.

I look up towards Jowan then and see him looking at me with an expression holding both confidence and pride, and not guarded wariness, which is apparent in the set of his chin and spark in his eyes. But... he didn't hurt Connor, did he?

"Dear Maker... Does the boy still yet live?" I hear Leliana whisper in a voice rough with emotion, and I look over to her with a fear and worry that reflects her own. I'd wanted it to all stop, didn't I? But at what cost?

There's been a chant of someone saying 'no, no, no' in the very background barely to be heard, but during these last few moments that chant has gotten loud enough to be heard clearly enough to be concerning. It's Isolde with her distinctive French-accent, but she sounds hoarse as if she were earlier screaming or crying. She's walking on visibly shaky legs over towards the prone form of her son now, and despite of who she is, I feel my heart aching in sympathy for her and her boy. She collapses beside him like a sack of potatoes, and cries out in a scream that further pulls at my heart. With tears streaming down her drawn face, Isolde cradles Connor's head in her lap with the utmost care and trembling hands. She's petting his hair and sobbing brokenly, like a woman who just can't deal with the pain she's experiencing. A similar pain I've felt before when waking in this place.

My eyes instantly snap towards Jowan again, but this time I know I hold a deeply felt suspicion in my dark gaze, "Did you kill him?" I hiss in hushed tones meant only for him to hear. He had stopped whatever madness was going on here, but he shouldn't have _killed_ a possessed child over it. There's a fine line to cross here, and nothing is clear-cut. This whole place still feels as wrong as it looks. I can't tell what's going on with Connor, what state he's truly in, and especially not with a heart broken mother wailing so devastatingly with it echoing off of the vaulted ceiling.

"What?!" Jowan gasps and the confidence he'd radiated is rapidly replaced by a look of self-condemnation and shock. "No, no... I startled him. I wanted to deter his attention from his thralls-"

" _Ahhh!_ " There's a feminine scream just in that moment that slices through the air as sharp as any knife, and I feel my heart lodge in my throat at the consuming fear in that very noise. Isolde's on her haunches backing away from Connor, and the boy he's... his whole body is glowing and his eyes are literally burning with a dark red energy. That feeling of coldness that's been licking at my blood magic lines vacuums towards the spot where Connor's standing with his feet levitating off the floor with the strength of the surge of dark power in his small frame. Desire's much, _much_ stronger than I had first thought.

An incredibly reckless idea strikes me in that moment, and before I can overthink it too much, I move my sword, adahl'mi, just far enough out of its scabbard to wrap my gloved hand along the sharpened edge and slice open my palm with a quick movement. My blood, both natural and not, burns and hurts enough to make me tremble, but I wrap that wound around the back of Jowan's nearest bared hand and feel the pain weigh down on me at the contact with someone imbued with blood magic. I grit my teeth through my body's reaction to this mage, and grunt out to him,

"Use my blood. Kill the spirit - _now!_ " I hiss when Jowan looks unwilling.

He moves his other hand to hover over my own where I hold him, either to hold it or push it away, I don't know. He speaks with a seriousness and some other emotion I can't exactly place, "You'll die."

"I know." My vision is blurred by both pain and my own newly welling tears, but I don't see another way. This spirit has to die. I'm certain of it - I'm certain of my choice in this moment. I don't think I've been this certain of something since waking up here. In Thedas. I don't belong here, but I can make a difference in this. " _Just do it,_ " I tell him and squeeze his larger hand just a bit more in encouragement.

He hesitates for the smallest, yet somehow the longest, of moments. There's something underlining to his expression, but he nods solemnly, once, and unbelievingly he does as I'd told him to with a blinding surge of red magic. I hear Connor scream with an unnaturally deep undercurrent to his voice just before I go deaf to the world. When everything turns to that voidless black that I associate with a blood mage's use of blood magic on me, on the tails of a suffocating sensation of sheer _burning_ and _aching_ , my last thoughts are of a wish that death would truly bring me back home.


	19. Chapter 19

"Fuck! She's wakin' up!"

"Shh! Be quiet!"

"Lemme see!"

"Would you _shut up_?"

My vision swims when I open my eyes and a foggy feeling of disorientation feels heavy on my mind. I blink rapidly to dispel the bright whiteness overwhelming me before my sight focuses on the familiar faces of my... immediate family. My dad's looking scared shitless with his soulful blue-grey eyes rimmed red. My mom's curly hair looks disheveled and her forehead is heavily creased with worry and the righteous stubbornness she always has about her when she's ' _right_ ' about something. My youngest sister looks heartbreakingly upset with her arms wrapped around her chest and her lips between her teeth. But my middle sister and her brusque 'don't fuck with me you dumb piece of shit' demeanor being severely interrupted by a look of utter grief that's she's trying to smother by a stubborn set to her jaw garners my complete attention. Lah _never_ cries unless something's terribly wrong. What is it? What's going on?

"I told you she's fine," my mother sighs. "Those doctors are idiots. There's no coma."

Coma - ? I look around and the shiny metallic and white-washed look of everything instantly strikes me as familiar. I'm in the hospital. But why? What happened?

"Wh-what?" I choke out on a too dry throat. It hurts to talk - it _burns_. My throat's never felt so raw.

"Don't talk," my dad hiccups sadly. "We don't know what's wrong with you."

"Y-you d-didn't go to work," Leigh blinks at me and releases her arms from around her chest. "You were still sleeping, but y-you wouldn't wake up."

"You've been out of it for three days," Lah interrupts her twin grumpily when Leigh looks on the verge of crying again.

Three days? But it feels longer than that. It feels... a hell of a lot longer than that. I remember... red hair framing a tanned face with a bare dimpled chin and playful hazel eyes. What's his name? I can't remember, but I know it - I do.

"Forget about him," my mom coos with her hand waving in my direction, but not touching. She's not the affectionate sort. "He's not important. We need to find out what happened to you." That's right, but... I didn't say all that aloud, did I?

"Wh-what?" I wheeze again, but this time to ask what I'd said.

"Maybe you have something wrong with your head," my mom tilts her own to emphasize her point. That sounds about right... maybe I do. Nothing is making much sense right now.

"Yeah," I agree breezily while I push myself further back into the stiff pillows on the hospital bed looking at my family. It seems so long since I've seen them. "Yeah."

" _Ar tu na'din_!" I hear someone rasp in a harsh voice suddenly, but I cannot see them. The voice... sounds familiar too. Who's is it? "Emma lethallan!" The words... I know them - 'my friend'? "This is setheneran lethallan! Do not fall for its tricks!"

"Aereweld?" I gasp at the shocking realization of just who's voice that is, and I look around frantically for her. I remember! Connor, Jowan, the blood sacrifice! I should be dead! What's happening? What is this?

"You're home Karie," my mom smiles widely. It looks... off though. This isn't right. It can't be.

"No," I whisper disbelievingly. I remember other things - I remember what happened to me... what those blood mages did.

"Halam sahlin!" The familiar accented voice of Aereweld shouts with a resounding _boom_... maybe magic, and the room starts to shatter and crumble. The very room breaks off into inexplicable shards of various sizes that float for a moment before dissolving into thin air. What the ever living _fuck_ is going on?

I watch then as Aereweld steps out of a swirling purple vortex amongst the room's shards with her black robes and dull green armor fluttering about her in a wind that can't be felt. Her diminutive face is pulled sharply in fierce anger and her hands are glittering with a light purple magic. "The spirits will not have you!"

"We already have her," my mother chuckles with an inhuman, dark undertone to her voice. "The blood mage delivered her to us. She is ours."

"Ma emma harel!" Aereweld growls while she brings her hands together before her and stretches them forwards, "Ar'din tu harel!" The light purple-colored magic pulses between her hands, and the room, or what's left of it, _shakes_. My mom, my dad, and my sisters shake with it and they each collapse one-by-one to... morph into sickening images of what they once were. I know what these monsters are. They're malicious spirits of fear and sloth. They're not my family at all. I've been tricked then. How could I have missed that with Aereweld's memories in my head?

Aereweld unsheathes her sword and tosses it to me and drags me from staring at what once was. I catch the curved blade with an ease that proves just how much I've been fooled. I could've never had done that before I'd met her. She then brings her staff to bare clutched between her un-gloved hands and looks at me directly while she orders in an eerily echoing shout, "Kill them lethallan! They must perish!"

"What's going on here?" I hear a differently accented voice ask from off to the side in that very moment, we all turn to look in the voices' direction, spirit and not, to see... Jowan looking bewildered at us all. Chaos... just plain madness happens then and everything's a blur of action. Instinct overwhelms all other thought when I'm faced with those creatures snarling and eager to hurt me. Soon enough I have the dark ichor of my family's doppelgangers coating my borrowed blade. I feel sick. Those disgusting creatures had me trapped. They could have killed me - used my life to fuel their own and I wouldn't ever have suspected it if not for Aereweld.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," Jowan pants with his hands braced against his sides while he attempts to catch his breath. He too had gotten caught up in the fight. "Granted, I'd never done such a spell before, but I was trying to send the other mage, that woman, into this plane of the Fade - not myself."

"Emma lethallan has a... strange bond with the dark magics," Aereweld offers by way of explanation with her brow furrowed. "I do not understand its complexities entirely myself. Perhaps that is why magic did not act as it should."

"And who the bloody Void are you? I've never seen you before," Jowan frowns at the smaller, yet more intimidating, elven woman who is still holding her staff defensively and standing protectively near me.

"Aereweld Ayuhni Ghilan'nainlen Dar'uthenera," she says proudly, but does not show any kindness towards Jowan. "Shemlen, we need to seek out the era'harel to end the ill spirit of Desire and free emma lethallan. She should not be in this place for long. It is not natural."

"Am I supposed to know what any of that means?" Jowan frowns.

"She means Connor. We find him, we find Desire, and then we can kill it." I shiver at the memory of what that demon had just done to me, or tried to do. "It _really_ needs to die."

"And just how come you're not dead?" Jowan asks with a palpable suspicion. Good question, that.

"I protected her," Aereweld says with a visible straightening of her slim shoulders. "She does not deserve to die for her kindness. I am uthenera, and therefore I supplied your spell in her stead. I felt her essence dwindle within our bond, and I know her time has not yet come - I had to prevent it."

Jowan looks about ready to blurt another question, but I interrupt him, "I helped Aereweld pass on to the Beyond. She had lived an immortal's life and wanted to die. And... wait." I look over towards Aereweld with confusion marring my expression, "What are you doing here Aereweld? Didn't you pass on to the afterlife after I freed you?"

"I did, but I am dar'uthenera. You know I know how to transverse but a handful of planes in the Beyond without the aid of spirits _and_ without the restrictions of the blessed gem. That knowledge extends even in death." She explains patiently with a warmth in her violet gaze, "A part of me has been with you since I joined my consciousness with your own. I could feel when you were endangered in this place, and knew I had to act if only to further repay your for your deeds."

"I have more questions that I suspect will not be answered," Jowan drawls.

"Yes, shemlen," Aereweld sniffles. "Era'harel grows stronger the longer we hesitate."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Ar tu na'din: I will kill you.
> 
> Emma lethallan: My clansman.
> 
> setheneran: land of waking dreams - a place where the Veil is thin.
> 
> Halam sahlin: This ends now.
> 
> Ma emma harel: You should fear me.
> 
> Ar'din tu harel: I do not fear you.
> 
> Aereweld Ayuhni Ghilan'nainlen Dar'uthenera: Aereweld Ayuhni child of Ghilan'nain, the Halla-mother, and one of the immortals.
> 
> Shemlen: quick-children - elvish word for humans.
> 
> era'harel: in reference to Connor, a demon-mage. Someone like an arcane horror.


	20. Chapter 20

_"Era'harel grows stronger the longer we hesitate."_

* * *

"Milady elf," Jowan says questioningly when Aereweld seemingly fashions armor and a sword for me out of thin air with a wave of her purple glowing hands. It's weird. I didn't know she could do that, and I know her _very_ well. "Are you... somniari?" I've heard that before... what's that from?

"Ah. The tongue of those hateful shemlen," she sniffles disdainfully up at the taller mage with a scowl seemingly a permanent fixture when she's looking at him. "No, shemlen. You should know I am uthenera... by unnatural means. Many in my guild was dreamer, but I was not born with such talents. My time within a vessel of the Beyond allowed me to explore such things without the restriction of a body and without the need of lyrium. I perfected that knowledge here, in death. I am somniari only without body and without prison, and consequentially I am uthenera without tethers to Thedas. It is... unusual. In my travels within the Beyond I have yet to meet another soul who shares such a... situation." She looks around briefly and beckons us forward, before she touches and manipulates the portal she had used to get here with her magic-infused hands. "It is difficult to explain. I am more alike to a spirit than not here. Even death isn't strong enough to seclude me to one plane of the Beyond. It seems that feat is only managed by a blessed gemstone. I'd needed emma lethallan to set me free. I was imprisoned for hundreds of years, shemlen. I know the Beyond better than most."

Jowan looks stupefied at her words. He's rooted to the spot while Aereweld manipulates her portal with her magic in her search for Connor. I look down then at the reinforced Dalish-looking leathers that have been put on me with Aereweld's magic, and a sudden thought occurs to me when I recognize the leaf-like engraving and the delicate metal-work. "Aereweld!" I look up at her in shock. "Why am I wearing Ambrosyia's leathers?" Ambrosyia is... was Aereweld's lover before she was locked in that gem. Aereweld believed her to be dead in the very battle that had resulted in the arcane warrior's own imprisonment.

The elven woman looks over her shoulder briefly at me with a carefully guarded expression, "I thought they would fit you well, emma lethallan." I feel my face scrunch in confusion just as Aereweld removes her hands from the purple, glowing face of the magic portal and continues with a short breath, "I have found era'harel. The spirit watches over him. We must be cautious."

I look at the purple glowing portal with some trepidation. I recognize them both from the game and from Aereweld's memories, but I don't dream in the Beyond, Fade, whatever. I'm not form Thedas, and so I don't have a connection with this place like the people from it do. Aereweld was right on the money when she said it wasn't natural for me to be here - there's an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, and restlessness in me and in my blood magic lines that increases with every passing second. I feel Jowan shift from beside me and I look towards him then with what I'm sure is a fearful expression, before I take a calming breath and walk up towards Aereweld with more confidence than I feel. This is all surreal. I'd just put twisted images of my family to my sword, and now _this_. No. I... I was willing to die - I can do this.

"What do I do?" I ask Aereweld quietly.

The very corners of her mouth lift for a moment. "Take my hand, lethallan, and allow me to guide you. I will not allow you to be lost within the Beyond's fabric. Your experiences here should be no worse than that when you were transversing planes of existence." I can't help but to believe her.

There's a blinding, suffocating flash of purple light when Aereweld raises her hand and touches the portal delicately with her fingers spread wide. It feels like I'm being pulled in all directions and my heart's lodged in my throat, but I can also feel Aereweld's hand wrapped around my own even when I'm too dizzy to tell up from down. It's grounding, and I'm thankful for it. When I _finally_ find solid ground beneath my feet I stumble and collapse on my hands and knees with heaving breaths. I feel nauseous and my head's spinning. That was... intense. That's the best word I can think to describe that _little_ experience right there.

"I'd never seen someone have such an adverse reaction to inter-Fade-traveling before," I hear Jowan remark from somewhere off behind me.

"Emma lethallan is not mage-blooded, shemlen. She is even severed from the Beyond in sleep," I then hear Aereweld sneer.

"Like a dwarf?" Jowan says curiously.

"Shh, you two," I groan. "Goddamn," I gasp when the spinning in my head coalesces into a sharp pain that spears right through me and through my markings as quick as a whip. I can _feel_ and _see_ them pulsing in my skin with an eery glow and burning, stabbing sensation. It wracks my body, and I can feel the sensation building until the tension snaps causing me to loose an involuntary aura of pain with frazzling nerves. I faintly hear Jowan curse the Maker beneath the pounding in my head, and then there's a sucking, draining feeling licking at my skin that leaves me feeling weak and bereft after a handful of heartbeats. The frazzling of the aura of pain stops, and so does all other sensation. I apparently don't have a good handle on this reaver shit still.

"Do that again shemlen, and I'll ensure that you'll never feel the powers of the Beyond again," I hear Aereweld growl and it's enough to snap me out of my momentary stupor. I sit up on my knees, and turn to see Aereweld with her sword drawn and pointing in Jowan's direction. What the fuck?

"I had to drain her!" Jowan pleads with his hands raised. "I felt a shift! She was drawing demons towards us, _and_ that bloody well hurt!"

"Aereweld," I croak, "I'm - I'm okay. I-I couldn't stop it."

"Lethallan," Aereweld says and briefly looks me over with concern briefly flashing through her eyes. She then lowers her sword, but doesn't sheathe it. "Good," she takes a deep breath. "The shemlen was correct - you did draw spirits towards us. They are coming."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are my notes on Aereweld: Aereweld wasn't born a somniari like Feynriel, but learned how to do somniari-like things within her guild when she was alive, and when she was in her gem. When she was in the gem and her body was no longer alive, she became immortal (uthenera) until she was set free. In my head-canon arcane warriors share roots with somniari.


	21. Chapter 21

_"The shemlen was correct - you did draw spirits towards us. They are coming."_

* * *

I gape at the two mages for a moment in shock, before I realize that my mouth is hanging open and I close it with an audible snap. "H-h-how," I stutter, "I can't even-" Finish a sentence, apparently. I _was_ going to say I can't even stand on my own, before my Dalish friend works herself up.

Aereweld's face twists darkly and she turns slightly to fume at Jowan while she simultaneously interrupts me, "I would put the blame for this on you, shemlen, but it happens to be partially due to circumstance." She looks towards me and her expression smooths out some, "Lethallan, do not engage the spirits. We will disable them without you."

"We will, now, will we?" Jowan purses his lips. "I _could_ undo the spell, and theoretically we both would return to the land of the living."

"And you would abandon me to engage these lesser spirits and the spirit of Desire on _my own_ and in _your stead_?" Aereweld frowns harshly at the man and the expression is ugly on her soft features. "Do not do something so foolish. What if I do not succeed?"

"You seem quite capable," Jowan crosses his arms across his chest stubbornly with an audible swishing of his belled sleeves, "And, besides, that was my plan originally with that apostate woman. Karie - no, wait, yes - Karie doesn't seem to be in a state fit for fighting," he waves one hand towards me still kneeling weakly on the hazy there-but-not-there ground to emphasize his point. I still don't feel right.

"That is because of _you_ , shemlen," Aereweld points her sword at him again in renewed anger. "We must work together!"

"I couldn't agree more," a new voice interjects in a husky, sensuous tone that raises my hackles and instantly picks up my heart rate. "All this fighting - is it truly necessary?"

I think we all collectively turn to face the intruder into our conversation, err, Aereweld and Jowan's argument - it's a spirit of Desire. _The_ spirit of Desire. I know it to be true. There's a confused looking apparition of Connor standing a few feet back from the demon and shrouded in the smog of the Beyond, and so I know it to be the spirit we're after. How did it sneak up on us like that? I know it must be powerful with all those thralls and corpses at its disposal, but still. It's a little hard to miss a nearly-naked spirit in the form a purple-horned woman. Especially since said spirit has a pool of icy cold, dark magic surrounding it and feathering across the blood magic in my skin like an unwanted caress. It's stronger than I thought - I have to remember that. _That's_ why I offered myself for its death. The spirit has to die. It's too powerful, too influential, too destructive, too dangerous...

"You each desire peace, don't you? Peace in death," it says with promise in its tone as it looks towards Aereweld with reptilian, ethereal eyes. "Peace for mages," it then turns its gaze onto Jowan with a smug smile gracing its full lips. "Peace in life," it turns that disturbing gaze onto me, and I feel a bought of nausea returning when that sickening power is fully gracing the blood magic in my skin causing it to bristle and smolder. "I can help each of you to achieve that peace... _if_ we work together," it smiles a large, Cheshire cat-like grin, "and allow me to keep what is mine."

"We will resist you, foul spirit!" Aereweld hisses and brings her sword to bear fully against the ill spirit, "The Creators are with me, and I will not falter. Ma halam!"

"Come now, you can't tell me you don't wish for nothing more than to rest your weary head upon the bosom of your sweet lover instead of wondering the Fade for eternity," the spirit dares to sway a couple of steps in Aereweld's direction as her body shifts... morphs into that of a petite, pale elven woman with large, emerald-green eyes, and wearing nothing but a fine white slip and a pout on her thin lips. "Emma lath," the spirit coos in the familiar elven woman's airy voice - the spirit has transformed itself into an image I immediately recognize from Aereweld's memories as Ambrosyia. "You know as well as I that you cannot pass fully onto the afterlife by your will alone. You are nothing but a mere visitor there, cursed with the inability to put roots in one plane. You have been gifted by the Creators themselves with uthenera, but you don't wish it. You wish for the blissful freedom you can only gain with a true mortal's death." A pale hand that is not the spirit's true mottled purple clawed one grasps the dulled edge on the back of Aereweld's sword, and pushes it downwards ever so slightly. "I wish to hold you again, emm'asha. I want nothing more than for you to be free and join me in death. Together. Forever and always. Please, my love. You know what you must do." The loose blonde hair of the apparition swishes forward along slim shoulders while is pushes the sword further down and away in Aereweld's grasp with those words so full of promise. "Join me."

"Ambrosyia," Aereweld whispers brokenly, and I feel my heart shatter in empathy for her. I'd never felt love like that for myself, but I had felt it through Aereweld. There was a time when our consciousnesses were melded together in perfect harmony - we were essentially one person with our thoughts exactly the same. Our minds were completely intertwined with all feelings, emotions, and experiences. I _know_ Aereweld loved Ambrosyia in all sense of the word. I'd _felt_ it. That love stayed with the mage for centuries; she never forgot what she felt for her. "I have watched you from afar for far too long..."

"My lo- _ah_!" The spirit _screeches_ an inhuman sound, and I turn looking for the source of the spirit's pain to see Jowan shaking the residual sparks of lightning off from his bare hands.

"I suppose I was wrong to think an ancient mage such as yourself was capable," Jowan huffs with a breath of air that ruffles the loose tendrils of his inky hair while he makes for the staff at his back.

"How... dare... you... hurt... me," the spirit groans as the image of Ambrosyia splinters and disappears into nothingness to reveal the spirit in its true form. "Hurt... us," the spirit says with a different, more refined, voice and creates a new image for itself - a taller human woman with darker hair wearing Chantry robes with the fabric stretched taught over a bloated, pregnant belly. That must be Lily. Jowan's Lily. "You would not harm your own child. I know you, love," the spirit moves its hands along the firm roundness of its belly. "You should join us, Jowan. Please. We could be a family. We can be whatever you wish. We can live free of your crimes... I so desire to see the sky again, my love. Aeonar is so cold. Please, help us."

"You're not Lily," Jowan growls at the spirit, "I'll never fall for your tricks. There are benefits to being a blood mage," he says the last in a heated whisper with his hands firmly grasping his weapon and his feet spread wide in preparation for another strike against the spirit.

The spirit then turns to me stiffly while still wearing Lily's face, "Help us, dear. You can save us all."

Seriously? Even in the state I'm in, I'm not buying it. "No," I grit out through clenched teeth. My blood magic lines are starting to act up again, and it's all I can do not to succumb to the sensations and power they have. The spirit's eyes flash violet, and the wave of dark magic that brushes up against my skin makes my whole body clench.

The spirit's form slowly transforms yet again... until it's standing proudly as Sloane before me. "You can save us all, Karie," the spirit says in Sloane's fine, clear tones. "Together we can save everyone," h-he... takes a step in my direction with a single bare, scared hand held out towards me. I faintly notice that all feelings of nausea and pain flicker away with each step he takes while he comes closer towards me. Sloane makes the pain stop. He's always made the pain stop. "I can't do this alone. Join me, Karie."

"The Blight... Sloane," I feel myself struggling to my feet on shaky legs despite not consciously deciding to do so. "You're the Hero... not me."

"You can be the hero, and anything else you wish, Karie," he's less than an arm's length away from me now, and close enough for me to notice the small details in his expressive face that are... off. Has his eyes always looked like that? That... shape? "Join me," he whispers earnestly.

"Len'alas lath'din!" Aereweld shouts furiously, and I recoil away from... Sloane without all feeling in my limbs. I fall over nothing to land on my ass on the... moving floor. Shit. We're still in the Beyond. "You will not have us!"

"Blasted demons!" Jowan growls dangerously. "Hit it with primal magics! They can't take a little unwanted electricity," he snarks while he looses another bolt of lightning at the spirit, causing it to scream and transform into its true, terrible form with a burst of purple smoke.

"I will have the boy!" Desire yells and raises its long, fierce claws in preparation for an attack. "His father yet lives - we have a deal!" It howls with a surge of the dark power inherent in the space around it. My lines flicker to life in response, and I groan while trying to fight the pain and power wanting to overtake me. I can't loose it again. Not with Desire _right there._ I look up with clouding vision to see the spirit launch crudely spiked ice it manifested with its magic at the two mages. It does this with a frightening snarl that gives me goose bumps, even with the other sensations I have trying to overpower me. "I will have you all!"

Aereweld... I didn't even see her move in the haze of... everything, but so suddenly there's her familiar blue steel blade sticking out of the spirit's chest, and it's her angered face sullied with demonic ichor I see when the spirit freezes and slumps forward with the life-ending blow without so much as a whimper. The empty void of demonic power that passes in the following moments is refreshing, and allows me to better grasp at my fraying resolve.

I hear Jowan whistle lowly while he walks towards us, "I take that back - you are quite capable."

"Fickle shemlen," Aereweld sniffles while she pulls her sword from the spirit's corpse with a wet sound of steel grating against bone that makes my skin crawl. "The spirit no longer has a hold over era'harel. It is safe."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Ma halam: You are finished.
> 
> Emma lath: My love.
> 
> emm'asha: my girl.
> 
> Len'alas lath'din: Dirty child no one loves - a Dalish insult.


	22. Chapter 22

"That was too easy. Wasn't that too easy?" I gasp between large breaths of air, or what passes for air here, that rattle my teeth. I feel... I don't know, but I'm all fucked up. The blood magic webs embedded into my skin are flickering in shorter and shorter spurts that sear with every flare-up, my stomach feels unsettled, and I'm unsteady on my feet. I look towards Desire with black ichor mixed with purple blood pooling beneath the lifeless body on the hazy semi-solid floor while the corpse slowly disintegrates into thin air. The apparition of Connor is slowly fading away into the ether as well several feet away. It's over, but how can it just be _over_ like that?

"Arcane warriors are all but non-existent, lethallan," Aereweld cleans her blade on the fading skirts on the demon while she looks up at me with a hardened expression. "Demons do not expect to face our kin in battle."

"'Our kin?'" Jowan repeats in question while he circles the area setting glowing green and blue glyphs on the floor with intricate movements of his hands and fingers. I don't know what he's doing. I can't see the glyphs well enough to recognize them.

"I have taught emma lethallan all I know, shemlen. As I've said, our consciousnesses were bonded in inan'uth for a time. It was a deal we'd brokered to see myself free of my prison." She peers at Jowan with a tilt to her head that causes her dark golden-brown hair to fall out of the hood to her black robes and expose one long delicately pointed ear. "You ask many questions. Who are you exactly, shemlen? Why are you so curious about emma lethallan?"

"Well, I suppose introductions haven't really been made on my part." He lowers his arms then, and his sleeves slide down his pale, scared arms, "I am Jowan Levyn formerly of White River and formally an apprentice of the Ferelden Circle of Magi," he sniffles and bows shortly at the waist while pausing in setting his glyphs. "And... Karie set me free of the dungeons at Redcliffe castle, if you must know. I find this all a bit strange."

"Ah, it seems emma lethallan has a penchant for freeing unworthy souls." She smiles at me impishly, "That elvhen man, Sloane was it?" she asks despite knowing the answer. She knows as much of me as I do of her. "He is the one that had set you free of your own torment, and now you free others in turn. Fitting," she nods to herself, before turning towards Jowan yet again, "Are you quite finished with your preparations, shemlen? Emma lethallan should not be here much longer. She is unwell." She looks towards me over her shoulder, and I see concern flicker briefly in her violet gaze.

His face scrunches at the elven woman. "Another three glyphs, and if you happen to have lyrium or a blood sacrifice around we should be ready to return to our bodies," his hands glow green a moment before he turns his fingers about in a way that looks far too intricate to be sign language or something similar. I recognize it as the human way to set glyphs. Elvhen had used their entire bodies to create them.

"I shall do what I had done before to spare emma lethallan's life force," Aereweld bows her head. "One moment shemlen."

Aereweld turns on her heels and walks towards me with an outstretched hand, "We will be separated again shortly, lethallan. I wish to bid you farewell before we complete the spell."

I take her hand in my clammy one shakily. Her grip is strong where I feel mine slipping. There's an unsettling feeling in my bones that's been steadily building since I've realized I've been here. "You really can't die? You're really uthenera?" I ask with a frown down-turning my lips despite myself.

"Yes," she nods her head sadly. "The spirit spoke true. I am cursed to forever wander the planes of the Beyond until I can discover a way to undo this blessing. If it is possible," she amends with a bit of bitterness.

"If I could help you find a way to die, I would," I offer.

"That is an odd thing to say," she smiles kindly. "But I appreciate it nonetheless." She tucks a bit of my unruly short, dark hair behind my ear with a curious expression on her face when she touches the tip of one finger to the rounded edge of my ear. "It is strange that the closest friend I have had in nearly half a millennia is a human." Her gaze so full of sadness focuses on my face while she draws her hand back. "I will miss your company, my friend."

"I'll miss you too," I squeeze her hand companionably. "Can I ask you something?" I ask while shifting my weight on unsteady feet.

"Yes, emma lethallan?"

"My friends - they come here when they sleep." I look around at the ghostly ever-moving expanse of the Beyond around us briefly before returning my gaze to the green-tattooed face of my friend. "Can you keep an eye on them? I didn't realize the demons were so..." I wave my hand about when I can't think of a suitable word. "You don't have to. I'd just feel -"

"Enough, lethallan. I understand," she smiles kindly again. "Should I feel a demon encroaching on them while in slumber, I will interject. I can promise this for you, but I must ask something in return."

"Yeah?" I blink up at her curiously.

"Fight the Banalhan in my honor, and do not forget me," her smile turns sad again. "I have no legacy. That is dishonorable, as you know. You are the closest I have to an heir. Remember, Ambrosyia and I never took in a child to raise as our own, and I never took on a Second in life."

"You think of me as a... daughter?," I fumble as I try to make sense of what she's asking.

She laughs breezily, "I think of you as a dear friend, and apprentice, perhaps." Her smile stretches her face wide briefly before she continues. "You have no home in this world, and fight under no banner. You are not a Grey Warden, and yet you fight for their cause. That still leaves you without title, and status little better than an orphaned bastard. You are nameless. I am offering you mine, instead. I know this to be important to the shemlen. They look upon suspiciously to any who cannot claim a home or name. Take my name, lethallan. Give yourself roots in our world. Become Karie dar'Ayuhni Ghilan'nainlen of the Brecilian wood, in my honor, and I will see to it that your friends are unharmed in the Beyond by the spirits that dwell here."

I blink at her and contemplate what she's saying. It's true. Everyone has a name and home that is recognizable in this world. Just look at how Jowan introduced himself - titles are important to these people, and I have none. And Aereweld... not having an heir or Second was a point of contention with the other elvhen. And it's obviously something she wishes she had gone about differently in life. She is little more than an enigma taken by the wind now with no one to remember her and no family to speak of. And I do want her to look after the others... hell, I'll do it. Having an elf's name here must still be better than having none, or at least better than having one that people can't recognize or is meaningless.

"Okay," I nod and smile after a moment. "Does that make me elvhen?" I ask with a twist to my lips while the hilarity of the irony clears my foggy mind for a moment.

"No," Aereweld grasps my shoulder. "You are still very much a shemlen, emma lethallan." She squeezes both my shoulder and hand briefly. "Thank you for this. At least now my name will not be lost to the fabric of the Beyond." She backs away from me and releases me slowly with a small smile still on her lips. "Now to return you to your body." She adjusts her hood a moment before she turns about and summons a font of liquid lyrium with glowing, purple hands and a few short movements.

"Shemlen," she looks towards Jowan once finished. "Have you completed your task?"

Jowan is standing with his weight leaning against his spear-like staff and an inquisitive look about him while he faces us. He moves his staff to his opposite hand, and starts towards us at Aereweld's question. "I have."

Aereweld turns towards me with a sad smile, before she bends forward and places a chaste kiss to my brow. "Be free where I cannot, lethallan. Defeat Banalhan. Vir Bor'assan. Dareth shiral, Karie dar'Ayuhni." And that's the last lucid image I have before an oppressing, yet calming, whiteness blankets me with a feeling of inexplicable weightlessness.

* * *

"She 'tis not yet dead, as I said," I blink through a think fog of aches and lightheadedness to see Morrigan's familiar bright yellow eyes glaring at who must be Sloane, though his loose red hair is obscuring most of him from my view.

"I believed you when her breath fogged that looking glass. No need to be snippy." I can hear the frown in Sloane's tones.

I bring a hand to my sweaty forehead as if to physically keep everything from spinning so much. "I'm alive?" I ask as if I still can't quite believe it. All that was so surreal. It feels like a dream. It kind of was though, wasn't it? But... I do know better than to believe it wasn't real. That all happened. I thought I was going to die, I was ready to, but it happened. I'm still alive, as unbelievable as that is.

"Fortunately so, my dear," Sloane turns his head towards me with a happy smile alighting his expression. "The human boy seems to be well now from what ever you and that blood mage did. There's been no more glowing and cursing the dead since he's awoken. Doesn't remember a thing though." He straightens some as he adopts the persona of the commander he's recently made himself to be. "However, I must ask, what exactly happened, Karie?"

"Long story." I swallow harshly. I feel... more solid. Which is weird as hell. I meet my gaze to Sloane's, and feel even more grounded while I continue. "We killed the spirit of Desire though." I feel my own smile stretching my face when a thought strikes me, and I correct Sloane, "And it's Karie dar'Ayuhni Ghilan'nainlen now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> inan'uth - "Never ending inside place." Here, a word for the spell Aereweld used to share her knowledge with Karie.
> 
> Banalhan - "The place of nothing." An elvish word for the Blight.
> 
> Karie dar'Ayuhni Ghilan'nainlen of the Brecilian wood - Karie of the Ayuhni clan child of Ghilan'nain, the halla mother, and of the Brecilian wood.
> 
> Vir Bor'assan - "Bow but do not break." From the Vir Tanadhal, a Dalish philosophy held by Dalish hunters.
> 
> Dareth shiral - "Safe journey." An elvish farewell.


	23. Chapter 23

I'd caught Sloane up to speed while Morrigan had force-fed me one of her more potent elfroot potions, though they don't do nearly as much as they should in face of the greedy blood magic in my veins. I feel somewhat stronger though, and clarity returns to me slowly in the receding wake of pain and confusion.

"You've seemed to have forgotten one bit of vital information, my dear," Sloane drawls from the seat he's made himself in an overstuffed armchair next to the bed in the servant's quarters they've secured for me. He's perfectly cozy, if the way he's lounging and using one of his knives to clean the dirt from his fingernails is any indication.

I'm distracted by the glint of steel playing in the firelight for a moment, before I refocus on him and what he's said. "What?" I ask with several blinks to try and further clear the fog from my mind.

"That you'd asked the blood mage to _kill you_ in order to destroy the demon." He looks sharply at me then with flickering emotions of disappointment, anger and what I swear is a bit of anguish pinching his square features. The disbelieving fury held in his hazel eyes when his emotions seemingly settle make me ashamed of what I'd done. "I'd thought we'd already discussed this. Are you so unhappy here that you would kill yourself?"

I feel my eyes widen at his choice of words, and I turn my head away while I furiously blink back quickly forming tears. I've wondered about death, true. Not in a suicidal way, but as in trying to understand what those who are dying are experiencing in their final moments. When I'd watched my grandmother lay dying in a hospital bed in a medically-induced coma, it was hard not to think about such things. "I didn't try to kill myself," I argue, but it even sounds hollow to my own ears.

"No, you'd just let a blood mage use you for a blood sacrifice," he says cruelly, but continues after a pause and a slow breath in a calmer tone, "You didn't have to do that, Karie. We could've fought the demon, as we were, and ended it here. Together."

"There weren't very many choices," I mumble weakly and defensively. "You were killing innocent people. They were just thralls... Either we went to the Circle and got what we needed to kill the demon in the Beyond, which would've taken days, and who knows how many people would've died then... Or we could've killed Connor to end it. But he's just a kid... I'd rather die then him," I whisper in brutal, exposing honesty.

"And become a martyr for Redcliffe?" I wipe at my eyes when the tears start spilling hot from my eyes. He's right. Why the hell is he always right? It's just not fair. "Karie," he touches my shoulder gently with the pads of the fingers on his free hand, and I look up at him through a new haze of unspent tears. He looks off to the side then, and when I follow his gaze I'm suddenly reminded that Morrigan is still in the room. "Please give us a moment alone, Morrigan. You're excused."

She turns her head sharply towards us and upturns her nose, "I do not need your permission, Warden. I do what I wish."

"Morrigan," Sloane sighs in clear frustration.

"Yes, yes. Alright. Quit badgering," she shoos with a movement of her hands before leaving the room in a huff, after sending an undeserving scathing look my way, for what, I can't quite guess.

Sloane shakes his head before looking towards me again. "Why did you do this?"

"Do what?" I ask with feigned innocence and misunderstanding.

"Karie," Sloane growls, and the tone of voice makes my cheeks heat up in renewed shame and embarrassment.

"I-I didn't really think about it," I stutter. I fidget a moment before I look to him again, and goddamn that look could kill. "I just... want to go home," I admit and feel my emotions surge at how vulnerable I am in front of him in this moment. "I'd thought once... that maybe if I died I'd wake up back home." I rake my hands through my short, sweaty hair in frustration and humiliation. "I know Aereweld thought it didn't work that way. She said it didn't but... but I just want to go _home._ " I'm crying again being unable to control myself. "I fucking accidentally almost kill people all the damned time! Who the hell _does_ that?! I was normal back home. I just... I just... I never thought any of this could be real."

"You don't deserve death because of that." I frown at him. "For any of that," he amends and I look away in renewed self-loathing. "Look at me a moment, for Maker's sake," but I don't, and he pushes at my shoulder roughly until I'm turned to face him again. He continues then in a wavering voice that's a shadow of the confident one he usually adopts. "Karie, I'd... offered myself in another's stead before, wishing for death at someone else's hands because I was too cowardly to do it myself." He definitely has my attention now, and I feel my heart lodged in my throat in dreadful anticipation for his next words when he tries to continue.

"My betrothed, Nesiara... Look, I know you likely know this, but let me explain a moment. I witnessed her death. No. That's not a strong enough for what I'd seen. She-" He stops himself and swipes a hand down his face while he struggles with what to say and with controlling his emotions. He's a rogue, but the mask he wears slides free every now and then. I forget sometimes that he's capable of being so engrossed with his feelings, and can feel so deeply. I forget that he can be just as exposed as the rest of us. He seems so in control though - it's heartrending to see him like this. "I wasn't strong enough or fast enough to spare her the... to keep that from happening to her. She was innocent, and I-" He pauses and wraps one strong hand around my bicep forcing my attention to the pain expressed in his face. In his golden-green eyes. "I'd wanted to die in her place. That was what should have happened. I was supposed to protect her - we were to be married. I'd failed, and I'd wanted death." He breathes in through a flared nose harshly before continuing, "The Warden Commander before me, Duncan, spared me from that fate, and I will be forever grateful. To die for imagined faults... it shouldn't happen. Life should be held onto until the Maker gives us no choice but to welcome death. We should not seek it at our own hands. It isn't right, no matter the circumstance. No matter what we'd seen, or done, to think we are deserving, we aren't."

He moves his hand from me, and places the long, thin, and dangerously sharp knife held in his opposite hand in the sheath hidden up his loose sleeve with the firelight not only dancing along the steel, but also his eyes and the truth held there. "Do you understand?"

My throat feels dry, my eyes sting, and I can't quite find my voice. The man has the wisdom of... of the Hero of Ferelden. "Yeah," I squeak. "I-I... By Mythal, na'enasal. There's a reason you're the damned leader."

The corner of his mouth upturns in the slightest lopsided smile at my words. "Do you promise not to do something so foolish again? I'd hate to see you perish so untimely, my dear."

"Okay," I nod in agreement and wipe at my tear-stained cheeks to stem the fall of more. "No more blood sacrifices."

" _Karie_ ," he says warningly with a subtle frown creasing his brow.

"I won't... look for death," I say with sincerity in the face of his honesty and concern. "I'm grateful someone spared me too. That Aereweld spared me, that is."

"The Dalish mage that look you under wing," he smiles slightly. "At least she's not a blood mage."

"Wait." I blink up at him when I remember something at that. "Where's Jowan?"

"Who?" Now he feigns ignorance with a comically innocent look about him.

"The blood mage," I frown at him and his poor attempt at diversion.

"Oh, right. Him," he rolls his eyes. "Alistair's uncle's locked him back up in the dungeons."


	24. Chapter 24

_"Alistair's uncle's locked him back up in the dungeons."_

* * *

"He can't be locked up again, Sloane," I say with all seriousness in face of his comically dumb look with his pointed ears twitching just slightly with his withheld laughter. He's _so_ hilarious. Locking up Jowan is _so_ funny.

"And why is that?" He tilts his head at me.

"Sloane," now it's my turn to be no-nonsense. "I promised him his freedom, and I can't just let him be imprisoned again," I reply sternly.

"He's a blood mage and he poisoned the arl," he scoffs. "Regardless of your promises, the dungeon is where he belongs. We all must face our crimes one day," he now becomes serious and turns the momentary lighthearted moment we shared on its head. "We are guests here in Redcliffe, and have sworn to defending its people. I cannot go against my _word_ simply because you made a _promise_. He is a danger to the people."

"He helped save them! Without him, the spirit would still be alive!" I sit up in anger and determination, and glare at Sloane with forced heat. "And I gave _him_ my _word_. Is my honor worth less than yours?"

"Is it worth more than the safety of the people? He is a liability, my dear," Sloane's brow is drawn downwards harshly while he looks at me with severely narrowed eyes.

"I'm the liability!" I ruck up my sleeves hastily and bear the tendrils of blood magic embedded in my skin in the flickering light off the burning fireplace. "You see these?!" I gesture to my pale arms marred with red, "They're more dangerous than him! He can control his fucking blood magic, and I can't!" My gaze moves over the pissed off look held in Sloane's, but he doesn't correct me and I take note of that. I close my eyes with a slow breath in an attempt to calm down. My arms fall heavily onto my lap, and I continue in a voice void of the fire it had just held, "How about this then? Jowan swore to me he'd help me. With the Blight. Sloane, he's got nothing left to loose, and he knows how to fight."

"Why do you want him to join us so badly? He's harmed you, hasn't he?" Sloane asks quietly, and pauses a moment in thought with an unreadable expression before finally conceding with a sigh. "Fine. I'll see if the bann will release him into my custody. And it's not like he won't be the first criminal to join our ranks. I'd done something similar in recruiting Sten, you know. Perhaps I can even coerce Leliana in aiding me in this, like she did for the qunari."

"Leliana would help," I smile a bit in relief. "Do you want me to come?"

"No. That's quite alright," Sloane breathes out an exaggerated labored breath before standing. "The things I do for you and that knowledge held in that thick skull of yours, dearest. Just remember my kindness, will you?"

I feel my smile widen. I'm glad things are returning to normal between us. Again. "Yeah. I'll tell you anything you want to know, promise."

"Very well," he replies shortly before shoving his feet into his boots without lacing them. Just how long has he been in this room with me and Morrigan? "We will set off for the Circle of Magi once this business is taken care of. Hopefully it'll be dawn by then."

I turn my head and look to the heavy curtains hanging closed in the slightly disheveled room. Is that why the fireplace is lit? "What time is it?"

"Two bells before sunrise, I would assume," Sloane looks downwards at me still sitting in my borrowed bed. "You were unresponsive for nearly a day. As was the boy and the blood mage. We were afraid we would've lost you - all of you - to the demon. Morrigan seemed to think it rather unorthodox what you'd done."

My lips thin into a line and I look to him critically. "And you?"

"Extremely foolish and reckless, as I've said," he sniffles. "You'll remember what we've spoken about?" He asks with a fleeting look of concern. It's so quick that I hardly notice it was ever there. I nod my head though, and feel my fingers twist together with renewed nerves. "I shall fetch your blood mage then." He walks to the door, snaps his fingers at Randall for his mabari to follow him, and heads out the door without a backwards glance and mumbling to himself the entire time. I'd caught the words 'crazy' and 'Blighted fool' though.

And now I'm alone.

I haven't been alone, in a room or otherwise, since I've found myself in Thedas. It's strange, and I feel my skin crawl in momentary unease. I kick the woven blanket off of me, and look for my armor to distract myself from the shady room. The marks of the spirit's presence is still evident in the way the room looks quickly put together, and in the singed edges of the curtains and rugs closest to the fireplace and door. There's a fine layer of dust over everything, and even dried blood splatter in large arcs on the furthest wall. I look away from these things and the feelings and dark thoughts they dredge up, and continue to look for my armor. I find the leather pieces laying neatly in rows along a low desk. There's evidence of repair in new, neat stitch marks and patches in mismatched scrap leather. That someone would do this for me, take the time to make good repairs, brings a fleeting smile to my face through my nerves. After a few minutes of buckling the pieces to my person, I feel the silence become soothing instead of unnerving as it had been back home. Quiet and less frequented corners of the university library are where I would usually seek out, and not the cafes and couches where most people would like to hang out. Things are so different now. Those memories seem so distant and unbelievable in contrast to the state of things I find myself neck-deep in now.

I feel a new calmness and steadiness about me in the welcoming quiet and darkness of the room by the time the door creaks open while I'm attempting to flatten my unruly hair with gloved fingertips. "You'll be pleased to know that I've been successful," Sloane announces from the open doorway. I notice that his boots are now laced when he closes the door and goes to his piled things near to where he was sitting before.

He has his grieves in hand when I ask, "Where's Jowan?"

"Oh, well you're welcome, my dear. Your words of thanks are _so_ lovely to hear," he replies sarcastically and buckles the leather to himself with more force than necessary.

I frown at myself and mutter, "Thanks," before continuing in the same breath. "So?" I prompt eagerly.

"Leliana is making the introductions to Alistair, I believe," he rolls his eyes knowingly at me.

"You left the _blood mage_ with a _Chantry Sister_ and a _Templar_?" I gasp and walk towards him after sheathing my sword at my hip quickly in face of my worry.

The damned elf smiles wickedly without an ounce of shame, "Absolutely."

"I hate you," I frown up at him with crossed arms and an unease trickling back into my stance at concern for Jowan. Alistair wouldn't hurt him... would he?

Sloane 'tsks' and continues smugly, "I'd thought we'd agreed that you loved me, darling."

"...I'm pretty sure I hate you a little right now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Mythal: The Dalish Creator for protection.
> 
> na'enasal: One able to endure loss and hardship.


	25. Chapter 25

A thought occurs to me while we're leaving the hills of Redcliffe to follow the well-worn dirt trails winding along the lake, and towards the Circle's spindly tower that can be seen on the very edge of the horizon, if you squint.

"Why are we going to the Circle?" I ask aloud and to no one in particular.

"I'd thought you'd said there were blood mages staging a coup there," Sloane replies slowly while he too slows his pace beside me, before settling one arm loosely about my shoulders. We both ignore a startled ' _what was that?!_ ' that quite obviously came from Jowan. I make a mental note to talk to the guy about it later. Sloane slides closer to me, settling his weight more on me, and smirks, "Unless you were _mistaken_?" Why is he taking so much pleasure in this line of questioning? Is he trying to embarrass me? Because if this is some sort of repayment for all the bickering and near blade drawing Alistair and Jowan have been doing - I'm not falling for it.

"Nope. I'm not. This one bald guy does it." I frown at Sloane and his face that's much too close. As a short person, I'm a practiced armrest and this doesn't phase me all too much. But... isn't this usually the part in the game where you go after the Ashes? "Didn't Isolde mention anything about healing Eamon?"

He sighs and withdraws with a purposefully exaggerated forlorn look about him. "Always business with you. No fun, whatsoever," he sighs dejectedly, "But, yes, and that's also why we're off to the Circle - to seek a healer for the Arl's use."

I blink at him stupidly. "He can't be healed with a healer - we need Andraste's Ashes."

"Not you too," he raises one brow slightly in disbelief. "I'd accounted that idea to the ravings of a woman mad with grief."

I shake my head, "Nope. A healer 'll do nothing for him." I look around briefly, and am thankful that Alistair's been ordered to walk along behind the cart because of his arguing, so I can speak a little bit freer about this situation without fear of bringing him more grief. "If we don't get the Ashes, he'll die," I whisper to Sloane. "We need Eamon's help with the shit in the capital with Loghain, and his men for the march against Urthemiel."

Sloane sighs again, but this time without a playful undercurrent to the tone, "And you're certain a healer won't be of some help? There must be one knowledgeable on such things at the Circle...?"

"We do pick a healer up at the Circle," I feel my face pinch at the memory of Wynne, "but she won't be able to do anything for him. Eamon's the way he is because of the deal Connor had made with the spirit."

"Well, you are more knowledgeable on these things than I," Sloane loops his thumbs into his belt just after tucking some of his loose hair behind one pointed ear in thought. "I'd promised the Arlessa we'd try a healer though. Not that I don't trust your word, Karie, but we should at least give this a go before we go off and do something so drastic as searching for the flaming Ashes of Andraste." I see him roll his eyes before he turns his head back towards me with a new playful lightness held in his gaze and brightening his features. "And you had the most curious look on your face when you mentioned this healer woman. Say, why does she irk you so?"

"She's annoying," I grumble in response. "One of those types that always thinks they're right, and tries to force their views on everyone else."

"You don't say," he interjects, but I snort and continue.

"Yeah. I'll give ya an example, one that had always bothered me a bit when I was... reading the story back home," I cross my arms and look to the dirt trail we're following when I continue. "Say you were to fall in love with someone. Like, literally, now in the middle of the Blight. And like a normal person, you'd go out of your way to protect this person in the middle of a fight with... darkspawn, or something. And say doing this left someone like, um, Alistair vulnerable to attack-"

"And what if I loved Alistair?" he interrupts with withheld laughter in his tone.

I look towards him and the teasing glint in his eyes with my lips the slightest bit upturned. "I'm sorry, but Alistair doesn't _like_ men."

"Blast. I'm utterly heartbroken," he brings one hand to his chest and pouts dramatically.

"Anyway," I draw the word out lightly. "Wynne would bring you aside later, and tell you that you shouldn't love this person because your concern for them is keeping you from your duty as a Warden... I'd always thought that was a stretch. And that Wynne's a bitch. And that your love-life isn't any of her damn business."

"Why Karie, you're a bit of a romantic, aren't you?" He smiles widely in open glee, and I feel my face heat up like a furnace with embarrassment in turn. "I'm about to swoon at your feet my angry little reaver-Dalish-human knight in shining armor for defending my honor so brilliantly."

"I'd heard 'Wynne' and 'bitch'," Jowan slides up towards us and interrupts Sloane's merciless teasing. Thankfully. I totally owe him one. I was about to combust in mortification. "What are we talking about?"

"How much I love Senior Enchanter Wynne," I feel my lips spread into a crude, forced smile. "She's one of your favorite people too, isn't she?"

"Maker, no," his expression immediately crumbles. He looks about as sad as a baby bird that fell from its nest. "I could live a happy life to never see her again. She's a judgmental shrew, is what she is."

"She joins our group and does the healing," I tell him point-blank.

"...And I love her to bits, don't you?" Jowan smiles back at me unnaturally. The mage then bends at the waist and whispers conspiratorially to me,"That one's scary when she's mad. Stay away from her staff," and I can't help but to laugh a little at his panicked expression. "So," Jowan changes the topic while he straightens with a flourish of his billowy robes. "Have we thought of how to smuggle me past the Templars without them smiting or killing me outright?"

"How about killing you ourselves and smuggling you in the cart?" Sloane barks a laugh once at his own words. That wasn't even that funny. No, it wasn't funny at all.

"Are you okay?" I blink at the Warden and the peculiar hunch to his shoulders.

"Fine, dearest," he replies without looking at me and a little distractedly, before continuing in the same breath, "What do we have here?"

I follow his distant gaze to see a woman running towards us along the path in rather ratty, torn, and bloodstained clothes. She collapses to her knees in front of us after skidding to a stop on bared feet. "Please help us! Our caravan was just attacked by darkspawn!" Wait. That sounds familiar...

"Funny. I haven't sensed anything," Sloane's pointed ears twitch just slightly, and his eyes narrow in suspicion at the woman. He has the instincts of a... hero. I keep saying that to myself in my head. It's true though.

"Oh, you poor thing," Leliana breathes just a little too close to where I'm standing between Sloane and Jowan, and I startle a little. When did she get here? "Were there many in your party?"

"Y-yes," the woman weeps. "My whole family! I ran away! Please! You must help us!"

"Lead us to them," Sloane orders the woman sternly and places his helm to the top of his head in a quick, practiced movement and buckles the strap beneath his chin. "Keep your wits about you, everyone," he warns aloud without saying more.

I take him by the elbow once the woman's run off again, and before he can march too far ahead of me. He looks down at me with a steely, and slightly frightening, determination in his eyes. I swallow harshly before speaking, "This is a trap set by the Antivan Crows."

His eyes flicker in recognition before he replies, "We'll be careful, as we always are."

"That's not it," I shake my head. "Don't kill the leader - the blond elvhen man."

He breathes out heavily and looks away, before starting off again down the trail, "Fine then."

I follow after him after a moment's hesitation with my hand tightly wrapped around my blade's hilt. I hear some rather loud clanking a heartbeat later, and turn to see Alistair jogging up next to me. "Looks like someone angered our fearless leader too," Alistair remarks, and I see the flash of white teeth smiling behind his fully-faced helmet.

What did I do to piss off Sloane? "Don't be an ass," I hiss at Alistair while I struggle with my free hand to secure my leather cap. "You've got the mages, and I've got the rogues?" I ask with a raised brow. I'm not thinking about how easy it is for me to kill people right now. I'm not. I have to be focused. Think of them as darkspawn, or walking corpses. Yes... but they're not.

"You can take on rogues?" The Templar jabs merrily and thankfully distracts me from my line of thought.

"Aura of pa- _ugh_." I'm hit from the side to land face-first into the packed earth by something heavy and solid, and I hear the sharp creak of wood splintering and snapping near me. That was a tree, wasn't it? I'd forgotten about that...

"Is that the elven man I'm not supposed to slaughter?" I hear a rough, yet familiar, voice growl questioningly from somewhere much too close and behind me. I look over my shoulder from where I'm laying in the dirt to see Sloane half-crouched over me, one dagger out and glinting in the sunlight and the other hand holding my shoulder protectively. He's glaring murderously at someone off in the distance, and I follow his gaze to see... shit. Yep - that's totally Zevran. Bleach-blond hair, naturally tanned skin, wide shoulders for an elf, and distinctive black tattoos curling up the side of his face to his long, delicately pointed ears. And to top it off - a super arrogant expression and two _really_ sharp looking blades clutched in his hands.

I look back towards Sloane over my shoulder, and the red-head's expression has hardened even more in the wake of my silence. "...Please try not to kill him?" I ask meekly.


	26. Chapter 26

_"...Please try not to kill him?"_

* * *

Sloane growls low in his throat, and I can feel it vibrate through me from where he's still holding me with one hand, "No promises, my dear." He doesn't take his eyes off of Zevran when he continues, "I think he hit Alistair with that tree."

"I'm okay," Alistair comments a little muffled from behind his helm. "Plate armor and all, but I think it's about time we showed these bandits why they don't cross paths with Grey Wardens!"

"They're assassins," I mutter, but Sloane talks over me to agree with Alistair,

"I couldn't agree more, my friend." Sloane moves to stand and withdraws his other dagger from his belt in a smooth, effortless movement. He raises that hand with the blade pointing towards the sky and yells a battle-cry on the top of his lungs, " _For the Grey Wardens!_ " And it resounds with a _shing_ of weapons collectively unsheathing from scabbards.

I hear a _thunk, thunk, thunk_ and start to see three arrows buried in the dirt by Sloane's booted feet - which are next to my head. I scramble backwards on all fours in adrenaline-spiked fear while the two Grey Wardens of our group run off into the thick of the battle. I fumble with the scabbard on my sword to withdraw the green-blade, and another arrow flies past in the corner of my vision. I watch in some sort of stunned, sick slow-motion while the arrow slices a ruddy, and deep, path through the thinner leather on the inside of my knee to lodge into the earth between my legs with a soft _twang_ of the wooden shaft. A familiar burning sensation ignites my nerves with the wake of the pain brought on by the wound, and then my skin lights up like black-light paint at a rave. The red webs of blood magic encroach on my vision while I make to stand, and I finally free my blade from my belt with the weight laying satisfyingly in my hand.

I vaguely realize that I'm loosing all conscious thought beneath the consuming pounding of base rage echoing through my eardrums and thrumming in my skin. Too soon I feel the painful reverberation of metal-on-metal when my blade meets another, and then I focus momentarily on the white-washed face of a man I'm looking up at with my blade buried deep into the soft, vulnerable skin on the underside of his chin with his dark red blood spilling like a spigot down my hand and studded leather gauntlet. Then I completely succumb to the blood magic inlaid in my flesh, and it's as freeing as it is horrifying. Everything I experience comes in flashes of sensation that make little sense at the time.

I hear a deafening scream and smell the pungent scent of burning flesh and charred hair.

I see a wolf and a dog shredding apart a woman's neck in fine, red ribbons and her broken wooden bow laying useless in one limp hand.

I hear a thunderous roar and see a white-haired man crushing another against a tree and cracking the trunk in the process.

I feel the cold void of an area cleansed of magic and hear the startled gasp of a person's last breath breezing past on the wind.

I watch a darkly fletched arrow whizzing past and the glint of steel off of a person's helm before they crumble to the ground without a sound.

I cause the rapid decay of a person's disbelieving expression hardened in their skin until they are little more than ash beneath my thickly gloved fingertips, and I feel the repulsive sensation of revitalization tickling in the base of my spine and spurring me on.

I get bashed into the side by a man with a huge wooden shield, and I feel the dark power of the blood magic sputter and momentarily stop feeding the madness that's overwhelmed me. The man has the audacity to laugh cruelly while I struggle to stand again, but then he's set upon by Morrigan in wolf-form and Randall growling ferociously and following at her heels. The assassin's humorless laughs turn into terrified screams within the same breath.

Tears spring hot to my eyes in sight of this violence, and I turn about and stand to see Sloane and... Zevran locked in some sort of deadly sparring match. Sloane has a red line of blood slashed across his cheek, and he is holding his off-hand a little too close to his body in visible discomfort. Zevran has blood trickling down one arm to splatter against the ground in fat drops, and his expression has changed from arrogant to one fuming in murderous intent. There's a flurry of moment while the two rogues engage each other - Sloane avoids a blow aimed for his neck with a slight backwards bend and a quick sidestep, and then Zevran narrowly misses the Warden's retaliation with the press of their forearms against each other and a low kick aimed at Sloane's leading ankle. The ginger haired elf curses under his breath, and moves the dagger in his main-hand about while he adjusts his stance and bashes the pommel against the blond's temple with a controlled _crack_ of metal on bone. Zevran stumbles two steps before falling to the ground unconscious. Sloane quickly kicks the blades out from Zevran's hands with more force than necessary, and looks about like a lion seeking its next prey.

The sounds of battle are dwindling to silence when Sloane's eyes finally meet mine. His gaze clears of the glassiness of pain and adrenaline for a heartbeat, before he nods lowly at me. He's bent to remove Zevran's belt and secure the assassin's own hands with it, as I walk towards him with heavy feet and breaths while I recover from the sensations crawling throughout my body and the disturbing, self-hating thoughts vying to crush my spirit.

Sloane must recognize the troubling expression on my face, because his own scrunches and he tentatively reassures me in a voice labored with exertion, "These men are murderers."

"I know," I reply automatically without much feeling.

"Why did you wish for me to spare him?" He asks me while he nods once in Zevran's direction.

"He joins us," I sheathe my sword at my hip shakily and try not to pay too much attention to the gore on it. "He'll help us with the Blight, and he can be a friend."

"You'd think I'd allow an _assassin_ to join our lot? One who tried to _murder_ us?" Sloane hisses with such unrestrained fury that it makes me gasp at him with widened eyes in shock.

"J-just," I stutter, "let... let him explain when he wakes up, okay?" I wring my hands together, "I... think you might like him even, if- if you gave him a chance." I look towards Zevran and flick my gaze along his strangely familiar prone form, "He's not a bad guy. For an assassin," I amend.


	27. Chapter 27

"He's not a bad for an assassin?" Sloane parrots, and stands from the fallen Zevran with all the grace of an untamed wildcat. That look about him is just a _tad_ intimidating. Especially since he's splattered with blood - both his and not. "That's not probable, my dear," he continues heatedly.

"I-I..." I wrap my arms around my middle in building agitation and nerves. I feel it as my face reddens and my fingers twitch when everything I'm thinking comes to a head. " _Fuck me_ ," I spit when my nervousness and timidity finally give way to anger, as only my turbulent emotions can. Why isn't he letting up about this? I can't let him kill _Zevran_. He's a _companion_! "What do you want me to say? Yeah he's an _assassin_ , but he _helps_ , dammit!" Sloane's expression turns darker when he lowers his head a bit more to glare at me all the better. "I can't believe you're being picky _now_ of all times! Sten's a murderer! Jowan's a blood mage! And I'm a fucking reaver!"

"And none of you have purposefully attempted to kill the rest of us," he retorts darkly. "And who's to say he won't slit our throats at the first opportunity afforded to him? Would you feel safe sleeping at night with a viper in our midst?"

"I'd share his fucking tent - he's _Zevran_!" I reply as if that was enough of an explanation. I know it's not though, and I continue frantically making any point I can in an attempt to have him understand, and to have him change his mind, "He was sold to the Crows when he was just a kid by the prostitutes that raised him! He's had no choice but to be an assassin. He doesn't even like it! But he's good at it!" I take a deep breath and try to calm down after that, with my fingers curling in on themselves like if I were physically grasping at my resolve. I pause a moment to think about how to handle this best, and momentarily worry about what to say to this man. We'd just killed all of Zevran's people, and I can't very well let him kill Zevran too. That isn't right. There's been too much death. And, besides, I know Zevran won't betray us.

I continue more calmly in another breath, "This is just a job to him, and he failed at it. Do you know what that means to the Crows?" I look up at Sloane imploringly, "That means the Crows will kill _him_ for failing to kill _us_. And they do - they'll send someone after him. If he's with us, he can redeem himself through the Blight." I step towards Sloane with a mixture of anger and anxiety in my steps. My emotions are just too frazzled right now with everything that's just happened. I stop just a few steps shy of him, and let my arms hang limply at my sides while the feelings I wear on my sleeves bleed completely from my stance. "Would you kill someone that can be saved?" Sloane's face twitches as it's steely resolve too fades away. "Didn't you want to save as many people as you could?" I take the last few steps purposefully into his personal space, and finish my line of questioning quietly, "Will you spare him from his fate?"

"You've twisted my words," he huffs lightly, and then flits his gaze towards the sky before looking back down at me with a wry twist of his lips. "I don't know whether I should be impressed at your persistence, or annoyed at what you've just done here, dearest."

"Impressed," I brighten at his admission, and feel any residual anger snuff out like a candle in a breeze. "Definitely impressed."

Sloane has a rather bemused expression settling on his face when he reaches out with a hand towards me, and it hovers beside me for a moment, before finally settling on my shoulder lightly. "You'd have me collect all the unfortunate sods we can find, and have them join our cause, wouldn't you?"

"Yep," I smile tentatively at him. "It's what we do."

"Ahem," another voice clears its throat, and we both look down towards a newly conscious Zevran sitting on the ground and staring up at us with pain marring his features. "Not to be rude, but just who are you? Not the tantalizing Warden that just handed me my pert behind on a platter, but you - the exotic looking human with the red tattoos?"

I step towards Sloane a bit in unease at Zevran's sudden interruption, and Sloane's hand slides further along my back as I do so. Shit. How much did Zevran hear exactly? He'd think of me as a threat with me knowing all that, wouldn't he? Did I just endanger myself while convincing Sloane to spare him? "I-I'm a seer, ya know, and my name's Karie dar'Ayunhi Ghilan'nainlen of the Brecilian wood." I'm _kinda_ a seer... This isn't the best place or time to explain. And I bet my name seems odd... He might think I'm lying about who I am...

"Who are _you_?" Sloane hisses at Zevran and interrupts my rapid-fire thoughts on how bad this could potentially be, but then I can't help but note in the back of my head that the Warden still has not yet moved his arm from me. Uhm...? Am I an armrest again?

"I believe you know, Warden, what with your seer telling you my life's story." Zevran's eyes flit between us. "But I am Zevran Arainai. Zev to my friends. And a member of the infamous Crows of Antiva." He takes a slow breath hissing between his teeth, and raises his bound hands in our direction, "So? What is it to be then, hm? Death by impeccably handsome? Or some other fate?"

Sloane flicks the wrist of his free hand and brings one of his hidden knives to bear with an idle twirling of his fingers, "I'm of half a mind to end you now for what you'd tried to do, but I have a question - one that you will answer truthfully." He doesn't even spare me a glance when he releases me and stalks towards Zevran. "Who issued the contract on us?"

"Well," Zevran lowers his arms. "I do not know his name, it was not my prerogative to know, but it was a surly fellow in this country's capital city. A nobleman of great import, I believe, since he did have the coin to pay my employer's fee."

"Is he being truthful?" Sloane asks with a quick backwards glance at me.

A blink a moment at that. Does he still not trust what I've said about Zevran, even after... after all that? "Yeah," I try not to frown at him. "Howe convinced Loghain it was a good idea."

"What's this?" Someone else asks, and I turn to see Alistair wearily walking towards us amongst the fallen, but my eyes don't stray at their bloodied bodies for too long. "What's going on?" He looks at us three with complete confusion.

"Karie has claimed this here assassin trustworthy, and wishes for him to join our initiative," Sloane answers the Templar's questions quickly.

" _What?_ " Alistair squawks. "You can't be serious, can you? Not after you let her pick up the _blood mage_."

"Hey," I turn a bit to frown at Alistair. "Jowan's perfectly fine. Quit being a dick about him."

"I think it's a good idea," Leliana interjects while she comes to stand beside me on silent feet. She looks slightly out of breath, but her eyes shine brightly when she continues, "Everyone deserves a chance for atonement."

"May I say something?" We all turn a bit to look at Zevran. "I admit... this is an intriguing idea, and one I would be willing to accept for myself, especially since it means I would still be amongst the living, no? If you will have me?" He looks at Sloane at that and raises his bound hands again, "What your seer has said about the Crows is true. Either I die now at your hands, or later at theirs for my failure. _Or_ ," he smirks wickedly. "you allow me to join you, as you're one who may give the Crows pause. I will serve you dutifully, and with an impressive amount of skill, if I do say so myself."

Sloane sighs a long sigh, and twirls his knife about before seamlessly sheathing it at his wrist. He looks towards me with a flash of something in his eyes shaded by his cap and loose hair. "This is your fault, you know," he says to me before looking down at Zevran again, "You may join us, but know this - if I should ever suspect you of foul play, I will put you to the blade myself."

"Excellent, I do so look forward to following you." Zevran slips his hands free of his belt and stands a little wobbly. Damn - he could've escaped at any time, couldn't he have? Zevran swings the arm that's holding his undone belt around his middle and bows lowly to Sloane, "I pledge to serve you, Grey Wardens, this I swear."

* * *

We make camp shortly after that despite the time of day - we're all pretty exhausted and need to tend to our injuries. Well, not me. The disgusting blood magic handled that on its own by sucking the life out of some poor bastard. I can still picture his face if I close my eyes long enough. But I don't, not really, because we're too busy backtracking in order to meet up with Bodahn. Together we take a less-used grassy trail that leads close to Lake Calenhad, so we can wash. I volunteer to put up the tents once we settle on a spot far enough from the carnage to not attract wolves, but still close to the water. Me and Morrigan are the least injured of us all, but she's not going to set up tents for everyone. She's on healing duty though, and when I hear her bickering with Alistair and then Jowan joining in, it brings a fleeting smile to my face. Jowan had volunteered to help her, since he had said that the Circle 'tried' to teach him spirit healing for a time. I think he's trying to find someone other than just me to like him, and if he keeps picking on Alistair like that, he'll find a friend in Morrigan in no time... I'm not sure that's a good thing though, on second thought.

Once I've finished the mundane task, I go to Bodahn's cart and I grab the small pack I had gotten my hands on before we left Redcliffe. It's one that I've filled with what meager belongings I have here. Mostly injury kit supplies, things 'borrowed' from Leliana, and herbs that Aereweld knew to look for. It seems strange to have even this, since I'd had nothing just a short time ago. With the pack slung over one shoulder, I take a quick glance around camp before heading into the treeline, hoping all the while I remember which way the damned lake is. It's a bit different going from navigating modern city streets, to now only having trees and rocks to go by. Aereweld was _not_ a hunter, and so even her knowledge on the subject doesn't help me travel the woods all too well. Besides, she was in that damned gem for a heck of a lot longer than she was in the woods. I pick up the faint sound of water against stone soon enough while I'm walking, and I head in that direction determined to wash the blood from my body better than any dampened rag could, and in turn wash the evidence of what I'd done from me. Maybe I'll even clean the stains on my conscious while I'm there. When I finally stumble through the trees I see that I am _not_ alone though.

The shock of coming across a half-naked person takes me from miserable to overwhelmingly embarrassed in an instant, "Oops!" I squeak and then slap a hand over my mouth. Dear lord, 'oops' was my first reaction? I should slap that hand to my forehead instead.

"Karie?"

Dammit - I'm still _standing_ here. "Uh..." Why am I not moving or speaking? Am I having a panic attack? It sure as hell feels like it with my heart lodged in my throat over this awkward situation I've found myself in. "H-hi Sloane," I stutter helplessly with my lack of suitable reaction.

He's crouched by the water's edge with his bare, sinuous back towards me, and his ruddy hair pushed to one side of his head with him looking over that exposed shoulder. I can't help but to notice these details as I flounder for something to say or do. "Nice to see you as well, my dear," he finally says after a long awkward moment of us just looking at one another. He then raises a brow, before standing and turning to face me smoothly. I will _die_ an awkward little ball of embarrassment at that teasing, smug look held proudly on his face while he watches me watch him. He shifts his weight to one leg and then crosses his arms over the planes of his chest, drawing my attention to-to... shit. Is that blood? "Enjoying the view, are we?"

My eyes feel like they've widened to the size of saucers, before snapping up to his face in panic that he'd thought I was... ogling. Okay, maybe a little. It was hard not to! Oh my god - _what_ am I _thinking_? "Y-you're bleeding," I stutter helplessly again. The stutter will become permanent at this rate. His eyes look down at his left arm where the blood is running in small, watery rivets down his bicep to drip off at his elbow and splatter against the gravel-strewn dirt at his feet.

"It's just a flesh wound," he takes a moment to wipe the blood off his elbow with the back of his opposite hand. "I was about to see to it, before you... stumbled upon me." I can't quite place the tone in his voice when his golden eyes flick back to me and glint in the sunlight. "I could do with some help, if you are willing, my love."

Jesus Christ and Mythal! Was that a come-on? What is _happening_? He's never called me 'love' before. No, no. He's teasing. C'mon - he's _Sloane_. He kids. He's sarcastic. "Damn," I wheeze out on a whisper. I need to clear my head. Too much shit going on in my skull right now. He just needs some help, is all. Like he said. There's nothing going on here. Nothing at all. I'm just reading too much into it. Yeah, that's it. I curse at myself under my breath again, before saying a little louder with a steadiness that's difficult to muster, "I have some elfroot poultice and bandages in my pack." I tap the shoulder with said pack slung across it all the while hoping my hand doesn't tremble with my nervousness, and the foolish thoughts running about in my mind.

Something changes in the air between us when I walk towards him then, and a slow smile spreads across his face. The tension lines in his shoulders fade away when I stop before him, and all the while I'm worrying my bottom lip between my teeth in a nervous habit when I see him relax. I didn't even notice the tension in him until it was gone. Is he... nervous? Well that just caused all sorts of dangerous things to flit through my thoughts. No, I'm being stupid. He's my best friend here, if anything. I shouldn't be thinking these things about him just because he's half-naked and teasing me. He needs healing, and he wouldn't appreciate me thinking these things about him.

I didn't notice I was staring at his muscular chest being all wrapped up in my thoughts, until I feel the pad of one of his calloused fingers feathering along a tendril of blood magic I know to be running along the edge of my jaw. My eyes flick up to his face quickly while I silently berate myself for staring, _again_ , but the look I find there held in the line of his lips and the intensity in his gaze makes the breath leave my lungs. Holy _shit_.

"Karie?" He whispers my name questioningly in a husky whisper, but I don't know what he's asking for exactly. I can only think up half-thoughts right now.

"Sloane?" I reply back breezily before I can even think of what's appropriate to say. That was apparently answer enough for whatever it was he was asking though, because I stare wide-eyed and unblinking while he lowers his face impossibly close to my own. He continues to move with a heart-breaking gentleness when he brushes his chapped lips against mine with the softest feeling of skin-on-skin. That barely-there touch is still enough to cause a shiver to feather down my spine, and a little puff of air to leave my lips in shock at a surprising surge of lust that clenches my gut. His powerful hazel eyes are holding my darker ones so much like a cobra hypnotizing a mouse when his head moves back a fraction after that little, entirely helpless, sound leaves my lips. Seemingly of its own accord, one of his nearly too warm hands then slides to the back of my bare neck, and the other takes my armored waist firmly in-hand. His thumb is drawing a lazy circle at the nape of my neck before his lips brush against mine again, this time a little stronger. I'm barely aware that my gloved hands have settled against his chest trembling with unconscious emotion, before I return his kiss with a hesitant pressure and movement. I-I can't believe what's happening.


	28. Chapter 28

_...My gloved hands have settled against his chest trembling with unconscious emotion, before I return his kiss with a hesitant pressure and movement._

* * *

My reaction only spurs him on, and the warm hand that has settled against my neck tightens around the short column of it to hold me in place while he boldly presses forward against me with the length of his body. My heart rate jumps when all the space between us disappears, drowning out all other sound. And then, as if they had a mind of their own, my hands slide around his ribs to settle against his bared back to compensate for him crowding my personal space, and unconsciously welcoming him into it. The earthy scent of something utterly male with a hint of spicy elfroot and leather reaches my nose and further clouds my sensibilities, which spurs me to push back against his taller, muscular frame with an eagerness that again clenches my stomach. My uninhibited reaction shocks a small part of my mind still unbelieving at what's happening here. I don't think I've ever been this forward with someone so quickly, but it's completely blissful to succumb to it though. To _him_. My trembling hands slide up the firm edges of his back, and in turn he flicks his wet tongue against my bottom lip with a rough sound rumbling in his chest. But when my right hand brushes against his left shoulder his lustful groan rapidly turns into a hiss of pain. He pulls back instinctively with his square features pinched in hurt. The pain held there is warring with the open lust, and affection, that's tinted his cheeks and brightened his eyes. As I see this, my hands slide down to his ribs again and my eyes widen with concern.

"Z-zev stabbed you, didn't he?" I somehow manage to mumble over the heavy breaths leaving my parted lips, and the swimming thoughts mucking up my mind. The idea that I'd caused him pain makes my grip on his body loosen, and I lean back from him a bit in apologetic shame. "I'm sorry," I whisper.

The pain fades almost completely from his expression for him to look down at me endearingly, "Please, no, don't apologize, love." He smooths his rough fingers down the bony line of my spine peaking from my armor in comfort. "I'd told you it was fine." He bends again to brush his swollen, dampened lips against my brow. "If anything, I should apologize for my... impropriety."

I blink at him while the fog of desire slowly lifts from the clutter of my thoughts, allowing me to think a little clearer. Oh, god - I just kissed Sloane like a horny little teenager. The burn of an embarrassed flush crawls up my neck to replace the warmth of lust, and my eyes flick away to settle on a random spot on his opposite shoulder. "Oh, come now, you'll break my heart," he coos and leans into me carefully, and as well as he can with my hardened leather armor in the way. I don't move, too busy scolding myself in my head, as he continues in an unguarded tone, "You can't tell me you feel nothing for me."

My hands clench against his sides while I struggle with what to say, "Well-well... no. I mean..." I sigh with frustration, and allow my forehead to fall against his uninjured shoulder. I struggle with myself, with my thoughts, before speaking quickly and rather jumbled, "It's just - you know. We're - I mean, you're... _dammit_." I take a deep breath and force myself to have a complete thought before speaking next, "We've been arguing a lot lately... I didn't think- I don't know."

I hear, and feel, him snort before speaking next, "I believe we can account a fair deal of our bickering to sexual tension." I turn my head to look up at him disbelievingly. It didn't even occur to me to think _this_ was a possibility until moments ago. What sexual tension? When? "And perhaps a bit of jealously on my part," he offers sheepishly as explanation instead.

I blink at him again and utter a short, "Huh?"

"You've been-," he hunches his shoulders a bit uncomfortably, and clears his throat before continuing in another breath, "friendly with the blood mage." He moves his other hand slowly so they're both settled against my waist before continuing hesitantly, "I know it shouldn't be any concern of mine if you're attached to him-"

"Hey," I interrupt him gently, "Jowan's just my friend." It's kind of sweet, and totally unexpected... He's _jealous_. Sloane is jealous with Jowan because of me. It makes no damned sense. And I had _no idea_. None. My lips purse together at the absurdity of this confession of his, while I struggle to come up with an explanation that would ease his worries, and in turn assuage my own. Something suitable comes to me after a short moment, and I willingly go with the idea, "In the Beyond back at Redcliffe, the spirit of Desire tried to... corrupt us with our deepest desires. The spirit tortured Jowan with an image of his love Lily pregnant with their child. If Jowan had felt anything for me, the spirit would have used my image."

"I had no idea," he breathes relieved and the tension bleeds from his stance again. I can feel the pressure of his hands through my leather tighten some before he continues, "I can't even image what you had gone through there. I'm sorry I wasn't there to aid you," Sloane looks down at me kindly with an amount of regret in his gaze.

"You couldn't have been there," I reassure, but then something occurs to me causing the blush and the nervous chewing on my lip to start back up again.

There's a fine tremor in my gloved fingers settled against him when he asks simply, "What is it?"

"The spirit," I can't believe I'm saying this, "took your shape. I-I almost fell for it, but Aereweld stopped it," I can't look at him while I tell him this. I'd neglected to tell him this part originally, since I'd breezed through what happened when I'd recounted it. It didn't seem important at the time. I'm a _little_ afraid of his reaction when he pieces it together though. I'd just figured it out myself, and I can scarcely believe it. But, many things are oddly black-and-white in the Beyond, and the spirits will use anything to their advantage. Even things you didn't know about yourself.

"The demon tortured you with what you desired most..." His voice has an odd tone to it, but I can't even dare to look at him in my nervous cowardice, "It tortured you with me?" I nod against his shoulder, both fearful and hopeful at the same time. Funny - I didn't even consciously realize this is what I wanted. That _he_ was what I wanted. But the heady pounding of anticipation in my veins, and the warmth seeping into me by his mere presence is comforting, and wonderful, even with the nerves and silly worries flitting through me and my thoughts. "You desire me, my love," he concludes in a voice rough with unsung emotion that makes me cling to him. I'm relieved, to say the least, when he presses impossibly closer, before upturning my face with a gentle caress of his fingers on the soft underside of my chin. When I finally meet my gaze to his, his eyes are dark, but his expression is as happy as it is sensuous. "You have no idea how enthused I am to know that," he says before moving his face close enough for me to appreciate the flecks of green in his golden, hazel eyes blown wide. He presses his lips against mine in another feather-light touch, one that for some reason makes my knees weak and an undignified whine to bubble out of my throat unwillingly. He breaks away again, and breathlessly mutters, "Maker, but we really must stop this. I unfortunately must tend to my injuries sooner rather than later."

My eyes flick over his face worriedly again, and I take note that the cut on his cheek has scabbed over, but his shoulder must still be oozing blood for him to complain. From a fucking attempt at a back-stab, I bet. I frown at the thought of him being untreated for much longer, and move my arms off of him with a careful, and tentative caress of his sides with my gloved hands. "I'll help," I offer in a voice that's unusually uneven and hesitant.

"Your affections will be my undoing." The corners of his lips twitch upwards, "Very well."

I'm very much conscious of the way he's watching me, when I lower my pack to the ground before him and dig through it for the things I'd need for his wound. "This could be a very compromising position were the circumstances different," he snarks, and I glance at him to see barely-restrained humor shimmering in his eyes. What does he mean? I'm not doing anything. But, now that I'm looking, my face is right by his - _oh_.

"Get your head out of the gutter," I mumble amused, and lean back from him a bit more.

"You say the strangest, but sweetest things, dearest," he retorts and then crouches in front of me.

 _And_ for some inexplicable reason, I feel my cheeks pink at that. I gather the things I need into my lap, and then ask with the utmost caution in a voice labored with insecurity and nerves, "Wh-when did you...?" I look towards him and gesture helplessly between us. Without the heat and press of our bodies against each other, reality has fallen heavy on my mind, which in turn has lead to my thoughts attacking me mercilessly. I know I can't be what he's looking for. He should have pursued Leliana, Morrigan, or, heck - even Zevran. Why _me_? This is... this is _surreal_ , and right up there with all the other unbelievable things I've experienced recently. I can't help the uncertainty and damning thoughts from creeping into the back of my head, especially now without the distraction each others' lips. I'm nothing more than a plain Jane, even before the blood magic was drawn into my skin. I have no illusions about the fact that this gorgeous man is _way_ out of my league. And now that I'm thinking it, I can't stop thinking it.

I watch silently, and helplessly, when he purses his lips with a far away look about him, before he finally answers my open-ended question, "I'd fancied the idea of you when you had first sought comfort in me en-route to Redcliffe. I'd realized, later, that I appreciated being the one you went to. And sometime later still, I'd realized what that meant. And in Redcliffe, when you'd nearly died, I couldn't bare it... It helped me put things into perspective." The serious expression he was wearing leaves his face when he waggles his eyebrows a bit, "I've been waiting for an opportunity to show you just how much I adore you." He smiles brilliantly at me, "And you, love?"

My lips thin when I take a moment to think about it too. "I-I'm not sure," I reply honestly. "I... don't think I knew until we kissed, that I- well..."

"I see," he says quietly and reaches out to brush a bit of my wild, sweaty hair from my forehead. "I believe you've mentioned on more than one occasion that many things are different in this world of mine, than the one you hail from."

"Why are you saying that?" I blink at him and feel unease creeping back into me slowly, but consuming.

He tilts his head as if the reason were obvious, "Most times when two people care for one another beyond carnal pleasures, as we do, and share something like we had just shared, they are certain of themselves and their partner. You should know it's common enough to have never even shared a kiss with your spouse until your wedding day. Passion is rare, and I'd like to think it means a great deal." He moves to tug off the glove on one of my blood magic imbued hands, and then laces that hand through his larger, warmer one. "You are passionate about me, yes?"

"Yes," I breathe automatically with truth that I cannot hide. Oh, shit. It never even occurred to me... Socially, things are different, and everything I'd just told him - that I _desired_ him - and the way we kissed... There is passion here, but... I've just leapt head-first into something serious without even considering... Oh, fuck, I have no idea what I'm doing. It was different between Aereweld and Ambrosyia... _What is going on?_ That feeling of a panic attack is coming back...

Sloane brushes a kiss to the back of my scarred hand, "Know that I do not call you 'love' idly, Karie."


	29. Chapter 29

_Sloane brushes a kiss to the back of my scarred hand, "Know that I do not call you 'love' idly, Karie."_

* * *

This is some shit - I've stumbled right into a load of cultural _shit_. I think I'm going to combust in flames of mortification fueled by panic. I'm definitely warm. What do I do? What do I do with my _hands_?! He's still very much holding my hand. And now I _think_ I might be hyperventilating. Oh, god - I'm going to make a mess of this, aren't I?

"Mythal, na'enansal emma vehenan'ara. Ar suledin," I whisper the Dalish prayer under my breath, feebly wishing it would do me some good. I squeeze my eyes shut, and my hand against Sloane's in turn. I can handle this like an adult. That's not out of the realm of possible. I'm twenty-two damned years old - I've got this. "Okay," I blink at him and rub my thumb against the back of his warm hand briefly before pulling away. "Okay..." I twitch reflexively under the sharpness of his eyes boring into my own. I have _no_ idea what he's thinking, and he's looking at me a little strangely. Should I be concerned? I quickly fumble for something to say, to alleviate the seriousness of this moment, and I ask the first thing that pops into my head, "Can I, uhm, t-take a look at your shoulder now? So, you know, you won't be bleeding..."

The rogue seems to be struggling with himself after I've stuttered out my question, and for what, I don't know. He has a severely furrowed brow and lines crinkling the corners of his eyes making his expression seem all the more fierce. I'm scared shitless at his reaction. Though after an unbearable moment he sighs a long, defeated sigh and mumbles, "As you wish," before turning on the balls of his booted feet until the muscular plane of his back is facing towards me yet again. He adjusts his legs easily until he's sitting cross-legged on the damp, uneven earth. I take a moment to ogle, I mean, _look_ , and I spy a large gouge near his armpit, but still on his shoulder-blade. It's the reason for his pain, and the reason we'd, well, _stopped_. Banishing such thoughts, I quickly remove my other glove, and I soothe my cooler fingers near to the jagged edge of flesh as I examine it. It's pretty deep, showing some sinew and muscle, and I hope the elfroot will be enough, or I'm going to have to suture it. I don't have Morrigan's magical touch with these things.

"This will sting," I tell him in a strained whisper, while I pour some water on it from my skein. I watch his muscles ripple and tense beneath his tawny skin before I mop up the watery blood with a stray rag I have in-hand. Oddly enough, while I smother a good glob of the elfroot medicinal ointment on my fingers with the intention of coating the stab wound on Sloane's shoulder, I feel a calmness come over me with the familiarity of tending to someone who's unwell. It's a steadiness that I'm in dire need of right now. I'm _seriously_ out of my element. There's something going horribly wrong, or terribly right, between me and Sloane here.

"How long have you been a healer of the non-magical persuasion?" Sloane asks in a voice a touch curious, but devoid of its usual lightness. He's trying to get me talking again, it seems. And it's enough to break me out of my brief stupor in fascination with his flesh slowly fusing together due to the elfroot.

I blink at the back of his head, "An assistant healer," I correct gently. "And not long. I assisted with children and babies." I sigh and take up a bit of cloth for a bandage, and a spindleweed salve used for sealing said bandages. I draw a thick rectangle around the now slightly scabbed wound with some of the spindleweed mixture, then I place a strip of dried elfroot leaf against the wound, and lastly I apply the bandage with the flat of my hand all systematically. What we could do if spindleweed and elfroot existed back home...

I shake my head at myself for my straying thoughts, and keep my hand pressed against his stab wound, ensuring that the spindleweed ointment adheres to the bandage well. While I'm doing this, I silently come to the decision that I ought to say something _now_ while I'm somewhat comfortable and _not_ looking at his face. I don't think I could say this if I were looking at him. I'm afraid of his reaction, of what he'd say, and now with what he's thinking of me and the way I stumbled through a response to the sweet, honest thing he said. I owe him an explanation, at the very least. "I think my people... go about relationships differently than yours." I take a deep breath and try to figure out what I want to say to explain my panic and hesitance. _That_ was probably a far cry from the response he was expecting, and hoping for. "Arranged marriages aren't too common, at least in the area where I'm from... And there are many people who will live with another person for years, and not marry them. Chivalry... is pretty much dead."

"Why are you-"

"Shh. Let me explain," I hush as gently as I can, despite the interruption, and I move the hand that had held the bandage to rub against the smooth contours of his back comfortingly. I have a ton of confidence when I'm not looking directly at a person's face, and I'm glad for it, at least right now, since I _need_ to explain myself. "All those things we've just said, what you said, are absolutely amazing, and so sweet, but... not what I'm used to hearing form a person after some kissing. D-do you understand?" I take a deep breath after saying all that rather quickly.

He looks at me over his shoulder, and my hand slides off of him at the unexpected blank expression drawing his face tight, "Do your people not choose life partners?"

"No, no - they do!" He's _looking_ at me now, and I can just feel the nervousness taking hold again. "A lot of people get married, settle down, have kids and all that, but I'm just saying... _Ugh_." I swipe a hand across my face and into my hair, where I tug on the sweaty strands and curse my inability to _say_ what I'm _thinking_. "Sex! There's a lot of sex - wait! No! That's not what I meant!" I'm blushing _and_ panicking at the same time now, "Y-you said you were being improper or something, right? Maybe to you it was, but I thought it was good - like _really good_." I feel my skin absolutely burning red beneath my blood magic lines, and my eyes are as wide as they can possibly widen. "Oh, you're gonna take that the wrong way, aren't you?" I squeak out meekly and _very_ inaudibly.

He unfolds his legs slowly and turns to face me in a crouch. The expression he's now wearing is dark and intense upon his square face. "Did I misinterpret your reactions, Karie? Do you not hold care in your heart for me, as I care for you?"

"Oh my god," I gasp out in a whisper. I'm freaking out a bit, maybe a lot, but I manage to place my trembling hands on his shoulders in an attempt to calm us both. I can _do this_. But lord, he hasn't called me 'dearest' or 'love' since I've started rambling. That's _bad_. Really, really bad. "I do care for you, I swear." He's going to make me spit out all these crazy things - crazy things that are _true_. "I wasn't lying - I desire you. I'm passionate about you..." Inexplicably I feel tears welling in the corners of my eyes. He's going to end it - whatever _it_ is that we have going here. Before _it_ even started. I just know he will if I keep on fucking things up. I don't want _it_ to end though. I want to experience _it._ I desperately scramble for something to say, something to reassure him, and something to reaffirm that I'm not a heartless bitch. "You're important to me. You saved me. You made the pain stop. I-I just-"

"Oh, my love, please don't be upset. Your tears will make the Maker cry." The intensity of steely resignation leaves the lines of Sloane's face with those tender words. Tension too wrings out of him to be replaced by a sobered look when he gathers me into his arms carefully. The medical supplies fall off of my lap and onto the gravel lining the shore, but I ignore them in favor of wrapping my arms around him as hope surges through me. I cling to him, consoled and comforted like nothing else. He's a buoy keeping me afloat in the turbulent sea of my emotions and thoughts.

"Ar harel ma emma lath," I mutter what I'm too cowardly to admit has just solidified in my mind of him in a language the city-born elf does not understand. I dare not say anything of the sort unless I'm certain. This is so _new._ I am very much aware that the feelings could very well fade, even in face of the fact that he seems certain. He can't really be, can he? But I know he wouldn't lie... He never has before.

I feel him place a warm kiss to my brow, and whisper against my hair, "I have not told you this, love, but my cousin Shianni - her mother was Dalish." I look up at him in slow shock to see a slight satisfied smirk curling his lips, and a deep warmth in those golden eyes I enjoy so much. Those orbs are holding me still with their intensity when he lowers his head yet again to meet his lips to mine. I sigh unbidden at the release of remaining nerves, stress, and fear that fade into the ether at his acceptance professed in this kiss. He knows what I've said, or at least the gist of it, and he didn't freak out. Not like I did. Now being able to actually feel him with my bared hands, I caress the toned expanse of his back and return the kiss sweetly with tender emotion just brimming beneath the action. The slide of our lips against each other, his hot breath feathering against my sensitive skin, and his strength holding me still is heady and all consuming. I've lost how many times our lips have parted from each other to take a hasty breath between our indulgences, when we break apart oh so suddenly due to the sound of heavy feet skidding against gravel. A spike of fear lodges in my throat when Sloane's arms reflexively tighten around me. And when my eyes finally focus, I see his expression has darkened to near-on murderous, before I've even looked to see who has caused the interruption.

"I seem to have stumbled upon something utterly... _delicious_ ," a very familiar accented voice says with a damning amount of suggestion in our direction. "Do continue. I am quite enjoying the display." I turn my head, cautiously, to see Zevran leaning much too casually against a tree on the shoreline. Just how long has he been there? He had to have made that noise on purpose. Zev's a _Crow_. He could have very well stayed there unnoticed until... Damn.

"I suggest you leave, _assassin_ ," Sloane growls the word as if it were an insult, and perhaps it is to him.

"Tch, so short tempered." Zevran raises his hands in a pacifying gesture while he gingerly straightens from the tree. "I was simply tasked with your retrieval for the afternoon meal per the request of that buxom Chantry woman. And now that I have informed you of such, I will take my leave." He bows shortly at the waist, before turning and entering the trees seamlessly.

" _Hmph_ ," Sloane snorts harshly. "That man is just asking for a knife in the-"

"Whoa. It's okay," I soothe with my hands rubbing gently along his ribs, and I notice a barely discernible shiver puckering his skin beneath my palms. I smile a bit before I suggest, "Why don't you go off to eat? I-" I pause and flick my eyes to my armor still stained with blood I couldn't completely wipe off with a rag. The blood of men and women I killed in a blind rage. People I slaughtered when I couldn't control myself. I gulp audibly, and continue in a soft monotone, "I need to wash up."

Sloane turns my face towards him again with gentle fingers, and places a soft, wet kiss to the tip of my nose. It seems even he can't completely distract me from the horrible things I'd just done hours ago. Horrible things I'd had no choice but to do, but that knowledge doesn't ease my conscious. He smooths a hand along the nape of my neck, but he can't soothe away the pain I feel for the atrocities I'd committed. Even if they can be justified. Even if I would do it again. "You're a good woman, know this, love," he brushes his lips against my brow. "Would you like me to stay with you?" There's sincerity, and worry, in that question. I'm suddenly reminded that less than two days ago, I was willing to die - that I _wanted_ to die, and that just seems so long ago and so, so impossible now. I don't want to die. Not now... And all because of Sloane.

But, I can see he's clearly worried, and a small part of me _wants_ him to stay and to keep all the bad things, and thoughts, away. "I-if you do," my fingers flex against him in renewed nerves, "is-is it at all possible you won't look?"

The glassiness of worry lifts from his gaze to be replaced with something hot, but with that familiar teasing glint. "But, dearest, you'd just told me you hailed from a very sexual people. You can't tease me with that knowledge."

"Well, uh, that might be sorta true," there's a heat of embarrassment coming back to my cheeks, "But _I'm_ pretty conservative, compared to most."

His lips twitch upwards, and he takes one of my hands in his, "Well then, despite the fact that you have not given me the same courtesy, I will grant you yours," he then graces the back of my hand with a small peck of his lips.

"What?" I squeak wide-eyed, _again_ , "Hey, that's... totally unfair. Your shirt, tunic - whatever, was already off when I found you."

"So if I were to come across you half-nude, I would be permitted to stare?" He retorts in good humor with that lovely light firmly back in his expression.

"No," I reply simply, while trying not to smile, and I slowly stand from him. I look down at him, for once, and feel a warmth that had threatened to bloom, blossom throughout my being. "Thank you," I whisper earnestly.

"You never have to thank me, love." He stands gracefully and flexes his injured shoulder a bit. And seemingly satisfied with the feel of it, he continues jovially, "Shall I tend to your armor while you bathe? I'm quite familiar with it from the last round of repairs."

"If you want," I say slowly. I'm near-on regretting my sudden weakness. He seems much too pleased. It makes me just a _little_ suspicious. "You're gonna peek, aren't you?" I continue with thinned lips.

"My dear, I gave you my word," he gasps dramatically, and then his expression turns mischievous, complete with a rougish twinkle in his eyes, "But if I happen to catch your reflection-"

"Oh god," I roll my eyes, and consciously work to shove all nerves aside. Though I feel a tiny smile curling my lips despite myself. "You're terrible," I accuse.

"I try, love, I try."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm giving you all height references for the characters: Karie is 5'1", Sloane is 5'9", Alistair is 6'5", Leliana is 6'0", Oghren (when we get to him) is 4'8", Sten is 7'2".
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Mythal, na'enansal emma vhenenan'ara. Ar suledin: Mythal, give your blessing for my heart's desire. I need strength. (Mythal the Protector is the patron Creator of justice, motherhood, and love).
> 
> Ar harel ma emma lath: I am afraid you are my love.


	30. Chapter 30

Even with Sloane's gentle teasing providing a little distraction, I didn't feel up to more than slipping off my armor, rucking up my pant legs and going knee-deep in the cool lake water. My armor and under-padding were drenched with sweat and bits of gore I'd rather not try to recognize. I'd gratefully left Sloane to dealing with that mess, and took care of my exposed skin and the terrible state of my short hair in the shallow water. I worked quickly and efficiently with the soap Leliana had lent me, since I wasn't too eager to wallow in the filth associated with death and times of war. My wounds were healed by way of my reaver abilities, but even so where ever there was a rip or tear in my clothes, and the evidence of dried blood to the injury that was, I'd feel a phantom pain prick just beneath the visible webs of blood magic. Those... blood mages that had done this to me had desired to shape me into a warrior capable of protecting them from the Archdemon, but their... work wasn't exactly finished when Sloane and the others rescued me from them. I'm far from a warrior. And not for the first time have I questioned my sanity in light of this knowledge. I'm barely able to go one battle, something shockingly common in this world riddled with Blight, without struggling with rather dark and morose thoughts, and a touch of anxiety. I am angry at myself, and angry at those who are long since dead but still haunt me. But that anger seemingly dissipates when I'm around the Warden, and in turn when I'm focused on _him_ and _his_ words.

I'm aware that I might be too willing in allowing myself to become entangled with him, if only in a desperate attempt to have something _good_ in my life again. And I can't find anything wrong with that. Sloane is a chance for something good here though, when I haven't had much good in my life since waking up here. I've realized that giving myself to the feelings I have for him isn't nearly as frightening to me as what I do when I give myself to the blood magic inlaid in my flesh. It might have frightened me to the point of irrevocable action back home to allow myself to step into something so serious so incredibly fast, and especially with a man who comes from a culture where love is second-hand to duty. And from a culture where marriage is seen more as a necessity than a choice. But now, it gives me stability, _he_ gives me stability, when I'm in such dire need in this chaos I find myself wrapped up in. I'm in _Thedas_ , and I can't do anything about it, but I can try to make the most of it. The pessimist in me tells me I'll fail, but the hopeless romantic in me shrugs, throws up her hands, and says _why the hell not_. It's not like I can hurt myself any more than I've already been hurt by taking this chance with Sloane.

Having set myself as straight as I can manage, and washing the evidence of the latest battle from my body, I walk back to Sloane damp, but more self-assured after my bought of silent reflection. I slip on my boots, toss my worn socks into my bag, and silently watch as somehow Sloane manages to pile both of our sets of cleaned armor in his overly large rucksack. He looks up at me, now wearing a worn grey tunic and smiling at me brighter than I think anyone has _ever_ smiled at me, and says simply, "You look much more refreshed, love." I can't tell you how much I appreciate being on the receiving end of that brilliant smile.

"I feel _a lot_ better," I answer honestly with a smile of my own stretching my face tight. I shift my weight a bit after a moment while I toss my bag over one shoulder, and I watch as Sloane stands much more easily than I could manage with the combined weights of all that leather and metal that makes up our armor. Huh. Must be a Grey Warden thing. I blink at myself for that little stray thought, and I refocus on him standing in front of me. "With," I hesitantly start asking something I, well, don't know how people in this time _handle_ , "the others, uhm, what do we... say?" I'd just say we're dating now if someone asks, even though we haven't been on a _date_ , but I don't think any of the words I would use here have equivalents in this time and place.

Sloane tilts his head some at me and squints his eyes in thought. "You mean to say you don't know how you would address our romantic inclinations towards one another were someone to ask on them?" I nod helplessly. He straightens a bit then and hums under his breath, while rubbing his hand against his dimpled chin in thought. His eyes are rather unfocused when he asks me, "Your people don't court one another, do they?" This time I shake my head, and I feel my hands subconsciously start to wring themselves together. I don't want to step on any more proverbial cultural toes, and so I know I'll have to be more careful with how I would talk about things here. It's better to ask than assume, which is something I unfortunately don't always remember. "I would say that we are... intended towards one another, is that all right with you?" I can recognize the nervous tension hidden just beneath his expression when he looks down at me with that question.

 _Intended_? Towards what? A... serious, committed relationship? "Uh," I reply unintelligibly. "That... sounds good," I agree with an honest attempt at understanding what that even _means_.

His expression lifts at that though, and I feel my lips twitch in response. "Excellent, love," and he offers me his elbow. I know I'm smiling a completely goofy smile when I wrap my hand around his elbow, because it's such a novelty. I don't think I've held onto someone's elbow like this since I was a kid. It's ridiculously charming, especially with that pleased look on his face while we walk back towards camp through the sparse woods. _Yeah_ , I say to myself in my head, _I'm sure this is a good idea_.

When we pass completely through the trees and into the clearing we'd found for camp I hear a... _squeal_ , and then some rapid-fire French. "Mon ami! Zevran avait raison sur vous deux!" I turn partially to see Leliana waving a wooden spoon in our general direction. Her free hand then comes up to her mouth, and she clucks her tongue chidingly at herself, "Excuse my slip, but Zevran had said he found the both of you... embracing in a rather private manner. I was not certain of its truth... until now."

I blink at her while I release Sloane's elbow slowly, and we continue to walk towards where she's sitting with most of our other companions. Uh... do we have 'just made out' stamped across our foreheads, or something? I hear Sloane chuckle throatily at the expense of Leliana's continued excited babbling in French, err, Orlesian, before the familiar feel of his warm lips is against my temple. I turn my head just in time to see him turn about and walk towards our tents with our gear in-tow, and a self-assured strut in his steps. I look back towards the group then to see both of the rogues with variations of pleased, mischievous looks on their faces, Alistair looking completely befuddled, Sten... looking like he always does, and Jowan with a curious tilt to his head.

"I understand," Jowan comments mostly to himself when I slowly take a seat beside him, while ensuring there's enough room for Sloane on the end of the log the blood mage is occupying.

"What?" I ask when he doesn't continue or clarify after a moment.

"Why he let me join," he nods his head in the direction Sloane had walked. "The Warden Commander had said it was because you had asked, but I didn't understand then why that would matter."

My brow furrows while I say, "Sloane let you join us because I pointed out that you would be a good addition to the team, not because... because of _that_."

"I say the mage's argument has more merit," Zevran comments from where he's sitting on the ground and leaning against a rolled bedroll for support. "I believe a similar case can be made in regards to my joining your lot," he gestures to himself with one hand and a flick of his wrist before continuing. "Men do rather foolish things when trying to impress a woman, or another man as the case may be. Even going so far as trusting blood mages _and_ assassins because the one receiving of their attentions said so, no?"

"But I _know_ both of you are good people," I frown looking from Zevran to Jowan and back. I spy Alistair opening his mouth out of the corner of my eye, and I point at him like the reprimanding older sister I grew up to be, and mutter a simple, "No," for him to close his mouth... and keep him from arguing, _again_. He knows he'll get latrine duty if he keeps it up. Sloane's already assigned it to him over him antagonizing Morrigan before.

Alistair frowns, and instead of arguing against Jowan or Zevran, he accuses rather immaturely, "He _kissed_ you." Like I _didn't_ know.

I struggle not to frown at him too. The guy seriously reminds me of my middle sister at times like this. I cross my arms over my chest at the painful memory of her, and the passing knowledge that I'll never see her or anyone else again, and I finally give in to the urge to frown at Alistair. "We did more than _kiss_ ," I reply back childishly too, complete with an eye roll for good measure.

"Did we now, love?" I hear the subject of our conversation ask just a _touch_ smugly from behind me.

I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up in my surprise at his sudden interruption, and the slight, familiar flush of embarrassment color my cheeks again, before I turn to look at Sloane over my shoulder. "Sorta," I correct quietly in his direction. And with that trademark smirk of his firmly curling his lips, he swings his legs over the low log and settles next to me while Randall lays heavily in front of our feet. When Sloane wordlessly takes my hand and threads his fingers with mine, we both turn our heads sharply in Leliana's direction when a completely inaudible, and _girlish_ , sound bubbles out of her.

She clears her throat and pretends like we all didn't just hear that before speaking again. "I have prepared lunch, and while you two were otherwise _occupied_ ," the corners of her lips lift in the slightest smile, "we had thought of a way to smuggle our mages into the Circle of Magi, and past the Templars."


	31. Chapter 31

The plan Leliana had mentioned to get the mages past the Templars involved Morrigan teaching Jowan how to shift into a mouse's form. The idea is that they will hide in someone's pocket until they have an opportunity to change their forms back to their regular old selves. And that's what Jowan's doing now - studying shape-shifting with Morrigan. I could hardly believe that she'd agreed to that at first, she was never too eager to share any secrets of hers in the game, but here, in-person, she's always been a little too ready and willing to one-up the Chantry. Smuggling a blood mage with a history past their doors is definitely up her alley. She loves to spite Andrastians more than anything. Jowan, still trying to find another friend as the social creature he tends to be, agreed to working with Morrigan even though she's not the... kindest, or most patient, teacher. He only has what remains of today to learn, and what he can practice while traveling the rest of the way to the Circle. It's not like he had many other options in getting past the Templars anyway.

It's... oddly nice spending the rest of the afternoon and evening tending to weapons and building repertoire with everyone after the emotional acrobatics I'd done since this morning, and late last night. Even Sten. I didn't shy away from him overly much when he had a question on whether or not I was Bas Saarebas. Sloane even seemed to become a little more comfortable around Jowan before the mage went off to study with Morrigan. Any jealousy in regards to my 'attachment' to Jowan seems to have faded away, but the rogue's still quite leery around Zevran. Zevran's a completely new person to him, who did in all honesty try to murder us. Sloane's hesitance is understandable, but it can be... a _little_ grating too. I mean, Jesus, Zev seemed not to care less that his associates' bodies were left to rot after we'd turned the tables on them. The assassin seems honest enough in taking up our banner. Even so, Sloane assigned Zevran to a rotation on watch with Sten and Leliana. I'd assumed he felt confident that the assassin couldn't _try_ anything around those two. Well, on second thought, Zev could proposition them. Which I would _pay_ to see him do with Sten. Even as tempting that idea is, I'd offered to take first watch with Sloane and Randall. It was also nice... better than nice, actually, for a time. I was so comfortable just by simply being there with him, that I gave in to the feeling of being utterly drained, both physically and mentally, and fell asleep. I don't think I've fallen asleep so early since I was free of the blood mage cultists. One would think I should've been gladdened at the chance to let my hair down, but I regretted it as soon as my faculties were returned to me. I fell asleep _next to_ Sloane. Now, for most people that wouldn't be a problem - falling asleep next to your boyfriend and all, but most people aren't covered in unstable webs of blood magic with unbiased life-draining capabilities. I woke up from a dead sleep gasping in panic, having felt like I'd hardly slept at all, and consumed with a fear over the slip I'd made. I didn't hurt him. It was pure damned luck that I didn't. I made him promise not to let me fall asleep next to him again though. Sloane eventually agreed, if hesitantly. I think he understands why that's so important. Randall won't always be there to stop me when I loose control of myself, like the mabari did when I hurt Alistair. When I'd nearly killed Alistair. I _can't_ do that to Sloane. I... I don't know what I'd do if I did harm him like that without me knowing I'd even done it, and without so much as a warning. Everything was a mess for days after I hurt Alistair...

"Blessed morning to you, Karie," Sloane greets me just outside my tent by taking my hand and pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it with the already familiar feel of his chapped lips. He in turn occupies my sluggish and sleep-addled mind with warmer and more pleasant thoughts than what we'd discussed last night, and my fear of truly being the monster the blood mages intended to make me be. "How was the remainder of your night? Better, I pray?"

I take my hand out of his in favor of wrapping my arms around his middle and giving him a completely spontaneous, and sleepy, hug. My morning moods vary greatly - either I give hugs, I feel like hiding, or I rip off heads. Today's a hugging kind of morning. Thankfully. I'm _so_ not a morning person. "'m sorry 'bout freaking out on ya last night," I mumble while repressing a yawn into his tunic-clad chest. "Sl-ooo-ane," I draw his name out lazily.

"Yes, dear?" He prompts after a moment and settles his hands against my shoulder blades.

I blink up at him through the fog of being not-quite awake. He's looking at me warmly, but I can't really make out the rest of his expression. "I think I need food," I blurt after a moment of just simply looking at his familiar, inviting face and trying, unsuccessfully, to figure out what emotions are being expressed in the lines of his eyes and lips.

He snorts a short chuckle and says, "You're as bad as we Wardens," he smiles. "I'd acquired some foods that you may enjoy from the larder at Redliffe while I had the opportunity, fortunately."

My eyes widen at the prospects of eating something that isn't stale bread, wild mushrooms, or tart crab apples. "What is it?" I ask excitedly and feel my stomach rumble at the thought. They say food is the way to a man's heart, but it's the very same for a woman's.

"Various imported nuts, and what's needed to make a porridge of some kind." He tilts his head a bit before asking, "It's not... offensive for your people to give such gifts, is it? You'd said you don't court."

"Presents are perfectly fine," I answer and lean back from him a little bit. I tentatively wrap my fingers into the linen of his tunic and say softly, though completely seriously, "I've decided..." I take a breath and collect myself some more, "I wanted to let you know that I'm _trying_. I'm - it's been a rough few days."

"More than that. For the both of us," he breathes unevenly, and his expression just looks so... so sad and crest-fallen all of a sudden. It's so heart-wrenching to see that expression held on his usually joyful face, that I'm momentarily overwhelmed with the urge to hold him and not let go. I remember that he'd said he had sought his own death just a short while ago, and though Sloane seems so indomitable as the Grey Warden he's made himself out to be, he aches and bleeds just like the rest of us. What he and his cousins went through... Well, it makes my problems seem small.

I lean into him in empathy with the desire to comfort, and soothingly wrap my arms around him again. He immediately buries his face into my dark hair, and with his uneven breaths feathering across my scalp, the knowledge of Sloane's vulnerability solidifies in my mind as something stark and real. I want nothing but to help this man, even more so than I have so far. And I want to never hurt him, but I fear I will. "If I could make everything good... I would," I whisper while I rub my hands along the dipped small of his back.

He turns his head and lays his cheek on the top of my head, "You try your hardest. We both do. We can't let ourselves be beaten by what's led us here... The Blight must be defeated, and with it we'll make everything good once again. Then we can live out our lives in comfort, and take peace in the simple fact that we won't have to suffer anymore."

"It's not that simple," I say so softly it can barely be heard, though I know Sloane can with his acute elven ears. And, _holy shit_ , I'm going to cry. I'd forgotten... Or I wished I'd forgotten, but I remember now. And I hate myself for it. "Grey Wardens... the Taint." I squeeze my eyes shut, and _make_ myself say it. "The-the Joining... that shit you drank, it-it kills you. Slowly." I feel my tears wetting his tunic from where my face is pressed against his chest, but all I can really focus on is the strong beating of his heart against my ear while I tell him this and fight the emotions clashing within me. " _You'll die_ ," I say in a voice so broken, that I'm not sure if he even understood me.

He so slowly moves his head until his lips are brushing against the shell of my other ear, "How long, love?" he whispers in a voice much too calm to be normal.

"Th-thirty years... Maybe less... but you'll get the Blight sickness. Wardens call it the Calling," I say so slowly. I have to consciously force the emotion out of my voice and deep, deep inside where it can't make a mess of things. He needs to know, and deserves to more than anything."...I don't know if Alistair knows."

"I'll tell him then," he says quietly, but still with that unnatural calmness, and pulls away from me. His expression is so devastated, and it's warring with the strength he's visibly trying to hold on to. It makes me _ache_ to take away his pain. "Don't cry, love," he tells me solemnly and wipes my tears away with his thumbs before cupping my cheeks in the palms of his warm hands. "...You look as though you wish to say more." Dammit. I'm no rogue - my thoughts are right on display. I do... I do have something more to say, and it's not the best of news either, but I remember it now too while I'm at it thinking these dark thoughts.

"The Taint... also makes you infertile over time," and my face is buried in his tunic again with a surge of empathetic despair for him that overwhelms me. "I'm so sorry, Sloane. Ir abelas. Abelas," I start spewing elvish with the turbulence of my emotions and thoughts. "Abelas, emma vhenan. Sloane, ir abelas emma vhenan. Suledin, ma emma vhenan."

His hands are settled along the curve of my spine when he asks quietly with a bent head, and his expression shielded by his loose hair, "Love? May I take you to your tent?"

I manage to mumble something in the affirmative between my muffled sobs and streams of broken elvish. He actually picks me up and carries me into the thing, but I'm too fucked up to even care. I'd felt happy and at peace for a moment, but so quickly reality snatches any sort of imagined happiness away, as it tends to do. I can only guess as to what Sloane's thinking and feeling. And I do - I'm thinking about it. It must be far, far worse than any of the thoughts I'm torturing myself with. And at that thought of mine, Sloane settles me on my unmade bedroll, and curls around me wordlessly in his silent misery. We just hold one another, forgetting that breakfast we had mentioned so lightheartedly just moments ago, and sit in our combined mourning for what could have been, what should be, and our wishes for things to be different. I don't know what I can say to make it better, as I desperately wish to do. There's nothing that can be said to change it - it's the hand life has dealt. We sit like this, offering and sharing in comfort and support, until it's time to pack up camp and head off on our journey. Our duty. I cannot forget - this is all for the Blight. This is all _because of_ the Blight. We have the Blight to either thank, or curse, for our lives right now.

Sloane leaves my side while we're walking along the beaten dirt trail after a time to speak in hushed tones with Alistair - about what I'd told him. I'm just staring at their backs a little ways ahead of me despondently, and so I don't even notice Morrigan's come up beside me until I suddenly hear her voice much too close and invading into my bubble of gloom.

"I've seen the way you look at him," she says rather bluntly with an abnormal harshness to her normally grating tone.

"Who?" I ask simply without thought, and blink rapidly in an effort to dispel my thoughts - thoughts on how I'd crushed Sloane's spirit just _that much_ more with the words I'd said earlier.

"Do not play at ignorance," she sniffles and I see her cross her arms out of the corner of my eye. "The Warden leader of ours. You look at him as if you have not seen a man before."

What? Is she - _what?_ I know I'm just looking at her so confused when I slowly reply, "Uhm... okay? I shouldn't look at him then?"

"Well 'tis pointless to look upon him in such a way, if he does not return the undressing of the eyes, and instead... leers _elsewhere_ ," she sneers with a cruel curl of her lip and a challenge flashing in her yellowed eyes.

What in all -? I'm not even... _What?_ Where is this even _coming from_? That's totally inappropriate! "What are you even _saying_ Morrigan?" I bristle. I know an insult when I hear one. And I'm not even _looking_ at Sloane like that. If anything we've been sharing a sad understanding of the feeling of loss for things that could never be, or rather can't be anymore.

I turn to see her lips pulled back tight when she starts spitting even more undeserving hateful words, "Why would he care to look upon a woman riddled with demonic magic, and short and skinny like a boy when there are other... fuller options available to him? Hm?" She even goes as far as to enunciate her words with a caress of her own bared, round hip above the low edge of her pants.

The world makes _no sense_ any more. This is some... crazy fucking shit right here. "You-you _bitch_!" I stutter when anger springs forth and fills me with irrationality. "What did I ever do to you for you to talk to me like that?! Just come out and say it!"

"Say what exactly?" She cocks her head to the side mockingly, "That when Sloane tires of the meager offerings you possess, I will be standing by eagerly with a bounty to sate his appetite?" What the ever-living-hell is going on? Where's this all even coming from? Morrigan is... a complete _bitch_. A jealous bitch. Of me? The fuck? "What's this? Silence?" She goads.

My eyes flash up to hers in anger and audacity for her starting this shit when I'm in _no_ damned _mood_. "I will not stoop to your level," I hiss and feel my hands curling into fists at my sides.

"And what level is that? Eye level?" she retorts.

I feel it when I _snap_ and finally give in. My voice lowers to a deep register I only use when I'm _completely_ pissed off, and my eyes narrow in threat, "I am only going to say this _once_ , so you better listen you mother-fucking _bitch_ ," I growl out the words huskily and full of rage. It's amazing how fast I can go from completely distressed to pissed-off-super-bitch, "if you try _anything_ with Sloane, you will become _intimately_ familiar with my aura of pain. I'll even give ya an example, if you _really want_ ," I curl my fists tighter and focus on the feel of the dark blood magic coursing through my skin in tangible ebbing and flowing waves.

"I will burn you where you stand," she threatens, and I can feel the coolness of the Veil licking at my skin as the magic starts to coalesce around her own fists.

"Try it," I challenge darkly with an unfriendly smile stretching my lips, "and see how many breaths you can take before there's a knife in your back."

She visibly bristles, but then her eyes dart around at bit. She doesn't say a word more when she so suddenly she changes form into a crow and flies off further along and high above the trail. I'm strangely satisfied by it, confused, but satisfied until I start when there's suddenly an arm around my armor-clad waist bringing me in to lean against a hard chest. "Love, I don't think anyone wants to become intimate with your aura of pain," Sloane's familiar tones surround me with a new-found warmth, at my bitchiness no less, and calms me like a splash of cold water would.

I feel instantly ashamed at my behavior, and of him _catching_ me at it, "Oh god, you heard all that?"

I see a pleasantly satisfied smile stretching his face over my shoulder, and hiding the earlier pain that had colored it, "Oh, by Andraste's grace, I did. I'd heard every last heated word form those gloriously pouted lips of yours."


	32. Chapter 32

_"Oh, by Andraste's grace, I did. I'd heard every last heated word form those gloriously pouted lips of yours."_

* * *

I feel my lips twist as I struggle to turn more in his arms to better see Sloane's face. His expression looks like one the Cheshire cat would have, and there's even a mischievous twinkle lighting his golden eyes that were so clouded over by misery just a short while ago. I'm happy to see the change, but not at my expense - for nearly fighting _Morrigan_. I know what she's up to though, and I won't take that shit - even if I'm a firm believer in trying to talk something out before throwing punches.

"Is this normal behavior for women where you're from?" He asks while clearly enjoying this conversation. His arms tighten ever so slightly around me, and something passes in his gaze too quick for me to make out.

"Uh... Well, I donno," I answer meekly and manage free myself from his arms with a lot of wiggling, before starting on walking down the trail again. I look over towards him when he comes up beside me, and he wordlessly holds out his hand for me to choose to take. I look at it a moment, before wrapping his gloved hand with mine. Threading my fingers through his, I continue my previous thought in answering his question, "I'd never done it, but, well, I guess... I've seen people fighting over someone hitting on... You know what? Morrigan started it!" I huff irritably. Holding his hand is a soothing balm, but even so, quite irrationally I have the urge of hurling a rock at Morrigan-the-crow circling above our party. Bitch can stare all she wants. I know what she's up to.

Sloane chuckles lightly and interrupts my grousing, "Calm down love." He tugs on my hand a bit, "You know, you've not spoken much about the place you hail from. You've always referred it as 'Earth' or 'home'. Tell me of it," he prompts.

"Oh," I purse my lips and feel the flames of anger snuff out at all the thoughts that swim through my mind with his request. There's so many modern things I can't explain properly. "I come from a major city, not a capital, but a big one." I turn my head towards him and feel my lips thin with indiscretion. How do I explain anything of the places back home? Cars? Heck, traffic lights? "There's not many trees... We had blackberry and rose bushes in the backyard. Umm..." My brow furrows. He's successfully distracted me from Morrigan, as I'd assumed was his prerogative, but I don't know what to say. "What do you want to know?"

"I'm quite curious about the culture that would produce such unique traits." He smiles that Cheshire-like smile again, "Such as possessing sexual liberation, but yet reacting fiercely over one's... claim on another. One would think that such comments wouldn't lead to such a harsh exchange of words, if the prior were completely true."

"You know... You're thinking too much about this," I feel my lips lift slightly at the corners. He... _liked_ what I did? That's... _interesting_. When he caught me, I'd thought he'd give me latrine duty like he'd done with Alistair.

"Oh, my dear, perhaps I'm not thinking about it _nearly_ enough," he smiles back again, but oh so suddenly the smile vanishes from his face. His head is tilted some as a tension quickly builds in the line of shoulders and neck, and in turn causes my own answering anxiety to take hold. His pointed ears are twitching just slightly in the breeze, before his eyes dark to Alistair's back - at the same moment they both shout, " _Darkspawn_!"

"Take arms!" Sloane orders in a booming shout, and releases my hand to take up his daggers in a seamless action. The coldness of my now empty hand isn't nearly as chilling as what I feel when I watch a darkspawn's ichor-smeared bolt _thunk_ out of the trees and into the side of Bodahn's cart. "Leliana! Randall! The cart!"

My hand trembles as I grasp a hold of the hilt on my green blade, and unsheathe it with my heart lodged in my throat. Another three bolts shoot into the cart in those short moments. Morrigan dives out of the sky as a black-winged smear to transform the very instant she hits the ground into a great bear's form in an impressive display of her shape-shifting abilities. Sloane rushes towards the line of genlocks streaming out of the trees in a mass of mottled flesh and crude weaponry, without even attempting to take the hardened leather cap from his belt and secure it to the top of his head.

I'm not given the same opportunity either, before Jowan rushes up beside me. "I have an idea," he gasps out with fire licking at the top of his staff, "but I may need your help to feed the spell."

Oh, shit. This is going to hurt, isn't it? My gaze quickly flicks to the increasing stream of darkspawn being held back by everyone else's brute strength, while we're standing here _chatting._ "Do it," I say darkly. "I don't care what it is."

"Sorry," he mumbles before slicing open his hand on a blade tied to the side of his staff, and then quickly placing that bloodied hand on the side of my bare neck. I know I'm screaming, but I know nothing else. The blood magic in my skin is _screaming_ , and is making me scream in turn. All I see is red, the red glow of my markings and the encroaching tendrils of it seeping into my vision and blanketing everything that I can see. I feel like I'm _burning_ , but the feeling eventually fades while the oppressing red glow too fades from my sight. When I can see, there's a darkspawn's glossy lifeless eyes staring back at me from the end of my sword, and I'm crouched over it with its black blood coating the thick leather of my gloves. I snap my head up panic-stricken, and wondering what the _fuck_ just happened, to see four darkspawn wrapped in a red, webbed mass of glowing magic that look so much like the red tendrils embedded in my own skin - and these darkspawn are _fighting_ their brethren. They are _killing_ them. What did Jowan _do_?

I hear a grating _shing_ of steel carving its way through leather and bone, and turn my head to see Sloane step out of the shadow of a tree with a darkspawn's newly dead body being kicked off of his blade by one booted foot. "Pick yourself up, love. The battle is not yet won."

He flinches then, and suddenly there's a crossbow's bolt embedded in the tree beside his freely swinging ruddy hair in sweat-stained tendrils. A darkspawn bolt. Holy _shit_. I'm moving before he is, the hot pain of my working blood magic feeding my strength and making me stronger and faster than what is humanly possible. The darkspawn responsible for firing the bolt is suddenly _there_ in front of me with my Dalish-made blade slicing through its throat effortlessly. Black blood splashes down the front of my armor on the wake of a pained gurgle from the beast, but I pay it no heed as I continue to force my weapon through its rank flesh. On pulling my sword free, I turn and see Sloane still standing amongst the trees shielded in shadow and several yards away. How... how did I run that fast?

I'm not given time to ponder that further, because a hurlock rushes me and beats into my shoulder with the pommel of its sword - then the madness starts anew. I freely give myself to the blood magic I possess, and allow myself to become the reaver-born monster the blood mage cultists desired me to be. A monster killing monsters - that's all I am in the moments that follow.

Sweating, aching, and covered in indescribable darkspawn goo, we all stumble towards the small village surrounding the Circle, and the tavern where we can wash, rest, and see to our wounds. I see and experience all this without truly seeing it, and without conscious thought for where my feet are, or where _I_ am, other than having a feeling of being _here._

"What's wrong with Karie?" I hear someone ask in a voice echoing and sounding drowned out by water.

"I believe she is in shock." Another unrecognizable voice says similarly.

"What did you do to her?"

"Nothing! Nothing! This happened after my spell died out."

"Then what happened?"

"I don't know... Maybe she expended too much power."

"Then how do we fix it?"

"Rest. Rest should help."


	33. Chapter 33

_"Rest. Rest should help."_

* * *

There's a thrumming pain licking up the back of my skull and pooling just behind my eyes. The sensation is fighting with the oppressive body-wide ache straining all my muscles. I try to think - what _was_ my last thought? I stretch my hands out and feel something that's familiar, but odd. Cloth? Wasn't I wearing leather gloves? Wait. Wasn't I wearing armor? I feel... lighter. My eyes flick open and fear clenches at my heart and in turn strangles the breath from my lungs. I can't see anything but the play of shadows against a wooden ceiling, and I don't know where I am.

"Shh, love," there's a too warm hand on my forehead. "Karie? You're safe."

I turn my head towards the voice, and it takes me a moment before my swimming vision focuses on the familiar distinctive square features and shimmering hazel eyes that belong to Sloane, and Sloane only. His straight red hair is pushed back behind his pointed ears, and there are the faint lines of bags beneath his eyes. "Wh-why do I keep waking up like this?" I stutter. I was asleep, wasn't I? What happened? This is... this is like when I woke up from the Beyond.

"Probably because what had happened to you was unnatural, so now unnatural things naturally happen to you," he answers and traces a tendril of blood magic on my shoulder. My bare shoulder. I shift a bit, and feel the play of the thin, scratchy sheets against my abused skin. I'm in my underwear. Why the _hell_ am I in my underwear?

I think my eyes are probably really, really wide when I ask, "What happened?" in a squeaky voice.

"You'd passed out when we entered this place, the Spoiled Princess," he looks down at the bed, and only then do I notice he's sitting in a chair beside it. Thank _God._ I mean, shit, no - yes, thank God. Ugh. "You weren't yourself after the last battle with the darkspawn. It was as if you were walking in your slumber." He looks back up to me, "Morrigan and Jowan expended quite a bit of their mana in healing you. We have not yet heard from a single Templar, so I assume the Circle of Magi is in a poor state, like you'd said." He pauses briefly again, and swipes a hand along the bridge of his nose, "Morrigan had said, and I quote, 'the fool blood mage awakened a fervor in her that exhausted her past the point of standing.' Does this make any sense to you, love?" His eyes focus on me again with a barely-hidden desperation in their depths.

I close my eyes again at my headache and try to will it away while I think on that. Fervor... wait. I know what that is! I look back to Sloane with a dawning understanding. "Fervor is a reaver ability. It makes you fast."

The worry clears from his gaze a bit, "Well, I had not seen you move that quickly before," he finishes with a long exhale. "If you know of it, I assume it is safe?"

I frown a bit, "If it did _that_ to me, I don't think I should do it again. I'm... actually, I don't know if I could stop myself from doing it again. I don't even know how I did it in the first place." I squirm a bit in budding unease, and pull my arms out from under the sheets. The iridescence of the blood magic embedded in them shines in the firelight and taunts me with it's presence. "I don't know how to control any of this... It-it just sorta _happens_."

I feel Sloane slide his fingers underneath my jaw, and turn my face towards his by pulling a bit on my chin. "Love-"

I cut him off and feel tears welling in my eyes while I just blurt everything I'm thinking, and fearing, all at once, "I black out when I'm fighting. Did you know that? I don't remember doing anything, until I'm suddenly _there_ and I've killed someone. My sword's coated in blood, _I'm_ coated in blood, and I have know idea what the fuck happened! I remember bits and pieces, but," and now I'm crying, "I don't know if I've hurt you, or anyone. I- Aereweld knew how to fight, I know how to fight, but- it's just so... Sometimes I know I've decided to drain the life of someone, something, a corpse, but- the aura of pain just sorta _happens_ sometimes, and I just... I loose myself to the blood magic. It-it's a madness. It's insane." I hiccup at the end, and cover my eyes with one arm so I won't have to see his expression at my words. He'll think I'm too unstable. He won't want me here anymore. He won't want to _be_ with me.

"Karie," he says my name and takes my arm by the wrist and moves it off of my eyes. I focus on him bent over me when he continues in a voice riddled with pain and a forced calm, "Why have you not said anything of this before, my love?"

He still called me 'love'? I sniffle a bit, pathetically, before answering, "I... don't like to think about it."

He huffs a breath and blows the hair that's landed in his face a little bit out of the way with it, "Of all the stubborn, Blasted-" He cuts himself off and takes another breath, "I want you to avoid any unnecessary battles until we can figure this out. Do you understand? Stay with Bodahn and Sandal in the cart if you think it best."

"But... we're going in the Circle," I say without much thought.

"Then do not engage any foe unless needed," he orders sternly. "I'd not leave you behind either. Not in this state."

I should feel relaxed at his words, but I still feel tense... and awkward. He's still holding my wrist pinned to the bed and he's bent over me. And I'm in my weird, Thedas-version of underwear. Panties that swallow your behind in fabric, and a bra that's more like a cropped cami. Small-clothes. That's what they call it. Oh, I remember that sexual tension Sloane had mentioned. I can feel it now. Yep, it's _right there_. His eyes are rather unfocused while he looks at my neck when I gulp audibly. "Um, wh-why am I not wearing clothes?" I stutter out. I _want_ to be wearing clothes. Clothes would be nice.

"You're not wearing any clothing?" His eyes flick back up to my face, as his voice drops a register with the end of his question. Okay, that wasn't common knowledge then. I'm very much aware of his fingers tightening just _that much_ more on my wrist, when he speaks next with another question, "Love? What is proper action for your people in such a situation?"

Oh, so many thoughts. Most of them bad. Very, very bad. Or good? No, definitely bad. "Wh-what time is it?" I blurt. I don't divert well, apparently.

"Just past midnight, I would assume. You've been unconscious for hours. Again," and _there's_ the undressing of the eyes. His gaze feels like it's burning through the sheet. "You did not answer my question," he states bluntly.

"Well, it depends..." How the fuck do I answer that? I pull at my wrist being held in his grip, but it doesn't budge. My heart-rate has spiked though, and I'm pretty sure he can feel it in my wrist. "I think-"

I am saved, or maybe cursed, from finishing that thought by a hard pounding on the door. A muffled voice that sounds very much like Zevran filters through the wood, "Warden, I have spied smoke coming from the Magi tower - the other Warden wanted you to know _now_ , I'd said you were likely _busy_ , no? If so, pardon the interruption. I apologize."

Sloane's face pinches when he squeezes his eyes shut, and it takes him a moment before he releases me and stands from the bed slowly. "How much smoke?" He snaps in the direction of the door just a _little_ irritably.

"Enough to be concerning for the safety of the mages within." Zevran sighs, loudly, "I do apologize."

Sloane grumbles inaudibly before again speaking in the door's direction, "Tell everyone to ready themselves - we are heading to the Circle _now._ " He looks in my direction and when the line in his shoulders eases some, I notice he's wearing that grey tunic again, and not his armor. "You're such a tease, dearest," he smirks darkly. "What would you have said?"

"Well," I blink rapidly and _try_ to think rationally, "I don't think I should answer that." We've only been a _thing_ for two days, dammit! I have to keep that in mind, no matter how sexy that smirk is. No matter how hot _that_ just was. I shake my head at myself and sit up more fully, and then instantly scramble to keep the sheet up. Yep. Still in my underwear. Oh shit. Who undressed me?! He said Morrigan and Jowan healed me! By Mythal, let it have been Jowan. I don't want that bitch Morrigan touching me. I look back to Sloane silently panicking in my head, to see his head tilted and him very much staring. "You said we have to go to the Circle," I frown.

He rolls his eyes playfully and smiles more genuinely. "Your armor is over there," he points to a corner of the room with a table laden with pieces of leather. "Feel free to don it."

"After you _leave_ ," I mutter and stick out my tongue childishly at him.

His smile turns more wicked, "And what if I don't?"

" _Sloane._ "

"Fine, love," he holds up his hands in an effort to placate me, "I'll spare your modesty." He turns about and heads to the door, but when his hand settles against the wrought iron of its handle, he looks back towards me over his shoulder. "Remember what we'd spoken of earlier, Karie. Avoid battle until we can think of a way for you to gain more control."

"Okay," I whisper when he leaves. I'm regretting agreeing to that when the thick, heavy wooden and steel doors to the inner chambers of the Circle Tower close behind us with a resounding, finite _boom_ and we're consumed by the stench of death and smoke. I hear muffled screams in the distance, and the coldness of the Veil torn wide just feels _wrong_. How can I help Sloane if I can't fight?


	34. Chapter 34

_How can I help Sloane if I can't fight?_

* * *

My armor feels incredibly heavy and cumbersome while I stand with my back leaning against the now shut doors, sealing us in with the undead, demons, and blood mages that plague this place. I watch as Leliana fishes into a pouch on her belt and holds the mice Morrigan and Jowan in her hands, before crouching and allowing our magi companions to scurry from her palms with their tails flicking behind them. She'd volunteered to be the one to smuggle them, since she was fairly confident she could hide them well. I couldn't have done it - all the Templars were staring at me, even more than Sten. I wonder if it's true they can smell blood magic? Well, at least I'd distracted them from any 'scent' Jowan might've given off.

The brown, scruffy-furred mouse that's Jowan beings to transform back to himself first, since he's stopped just a few feet in front of Leliana while Morrigan's sleek, black coated self is still running off. He starts to stretch and change color amongst sparks of bright yellow magic flaring and arching out from his small form. The transformation is a little time-consuming, being that he's unused to such spells. It looks disgusting, but fascinating, the stretch of flesh into flesh and the elongation and faint snapping of bone until he just starts to resemble a humanoid form. I wonder if that hurts? It sure looks painful. He finally looks like himself again on the wake of a drawn out exhale. Morrigan's transformation doesn't last nearly half as long, and soon enough she's standing proudly with her characteristic upturned nose and scathing, narrowed eyes.

"I am disappointed in your Templars," she flicks imaginary dust off of her one sleeve while glaring at Alistair. "'Twas much too easy to infiltrate such a stronghold."

"They're a little _distracted_ ," he huffs, but I stop paying attention to their bickering when Jowan's subtle movements catch my eye.

I stand from slouching against the door when his nervous twitching and pulling at his long sleeves starts to concern me some. His steel-colored eyes are darting about, and he looks positively distressed. "Jowan," I call out to him in a worried tone, and he starts before turning towards me. There's a fine sheen of sweat reflecting off of his brow in the dim torchlight beneath his messy hair. "What's wrong?" I ask.

"I-I'd never thought I'd be here again," he whispers while walking cautiously towards me with his fingers twisted in the cuffs of his robes. "It-it doesn't feel right."

He's been so confident since being free of the dungeon in Redcliffe, that this nervousness awakens my more protective and defensive instincts. I reach out one gloved hand and rub his bicep soothingly, like I would do for a frightened child expecting shots back home. "It'll be okay," I say with a little less conviction than I'd hoped to put into those words. I know what feels wrong - the Veil. It feels worse than the void back at Redcliffe. There are many more spirits at play here than the one, though strong, that had a hold back in that village. "We'll send the spirits back and seal the tear."

"Do you know how?" Sloane asks while he comes up beside us with a hard set to his jaw and his thumbs looped into his belt.

"We need the... litany... litany of an-ah-" I can't really remember what it's called...

"Adralla?" Jowan prompts with understanding in his tone.

"That one," I nod my head. "It stops the bald guy from turning everyone into thralls and abominations."

"'Bald guy'?" Jowan frowns harshly. "You mean Uldred. He did this, didn't he?" His expression darkens with every word he says.

"Who's this Uldred fellow then?" Sloane asks while crossing his arms across his chest.

"A manipulative senior enchanter with an ego the size of Ferelden," Jowan grumbles with something dark and angry settling in his stormy gaze. "He taught me blood magic. He made me believe it would be my key to freedom, and would give me the power to stay with Lily." He snorts, "And now Lily hates me. I don't even know what became of her. Or Anina. Maker, I'd left both of them to the Templars," he finishes while holding his forehead in one hand in a mixture of despair and loathing. "I hope Uldred didn't get to either of them," he speaks again, muffled, but with measurable grief.

"Lily - I know what happened to her," my fingers twitch against my sides where my arms lay limply. How do I say this...? Jowan's troubled gaze settles on me while I try my best to tell him this gently, "They... sent her to the mage's prison."

"Aeonar," he breathes and the tone is just so... empty. "They would send her there... for-for conspiring with a blood mage?" He looks down at the hem of his robes and then his booted feet with his loose hair hanging darkly in his eyes. "They might as well have killed her."

"As _touching_ as this moment is," Morrigan's voice cuts through the oppressive air like a knife, "Do we not have something to be doing?"

"Oh, come off it," Alistair huffs. Is he... actually being sympathetic towards Jowan? "Give a man a moment to grieve."

"Grief?" She retorts, "I will be grieving for the precious time lost listening to this inane babble."

" _Enough_ ," Sloane snaps, and even Zevran looks up from the lock on the chest he was silently picking. "Let's move on and work to save whatever lives we can, fair enough?" That questions wasn't really a question, more of an order, while the elf stalks off expecting everyone to follow.

"I agree." Sten's deep tones state. "It is not wise to leave the Saarebas without collar for so long. There is a reason the Qun leashes them." We all just sort of take a moment to stare at the Qunari, before quietly, and quickly, moving off to follow Sloane. There's a mindset for ya. Sten's a scary guy.

Each corridor we pass is dark and musty with the stench of burnt hair and rot. We pass by more than one corpse - both mage and Templar. I can't look at them all too long, but even so I find myself inexplicably searching for their cause of death. Disembowelment with a blade... maybe even claws, bisection by some unknown spell - there's still glowing splotches of the magic's remnants on the remains, electrocution by some sort of unnatural lightning, asphyxiation by... ice - they're encased in ice, and even decapitation by... I don't think I want to know. I curse myself for doing that, searching their bodies for clues to their demise, but even so, now I know what to expect. There's some nasty things running about here. And I'm not supposed to _fight_ them. Goddammit - how am I not going to?

"Halt! Go no further strangers!" A lately middle-aged woman wearing flowing red robes orders with one hand outstretched threateningly when we turn the corner through a doorway with its door laying in pieces about the hinges. "We will defend ourselves!" I feel my eyes widen when it dawns on me. Holy crap on a cracker - that's Wynne!

"Senior Enchanter!" Jowan raises his voice and his hands non-threateningly. "Please, these good men are Grey Wardens."

"Jowan?" Questions a slight, brunette man with very short, wavy hair and a scruffy beard whom I don't recognize. I don't remember him from this scene in the game... He's leaning heavily on his wooden staff with both hands wrapped around it, and recognition lighting his large doe-eyes. "What the ever Blight shitted donkey are you doing here?"

"It's true, we're Grey Wardens, milady. I'd met you at Ostagar, I believe, when I was a mere recruit," Sloane steps forward and interrupts, before bowing at the waist with a lot of flourish. "I am Sloane Tabris, Commander of the Grey and successor to Duncan of Highever."

Wynne wearily lowers her hand scrubs at her face, "I remember you. I'd thought all the Wardens perished at Ostagar."

"All save two," Sloane stands.

"Why are the last two Grey Wardens of Ferelden here then?" She frowns.

"The Templars have sent for the Rite of Annulment, and we are here to see to it that fateful time never comes. We are in possession of a treaty that commands the Magi to our cause in the event of a Blight, but the Knight-Commander will not allow the treaty to be honored without the First Enchanter," Sloane explains with a measure of ease and confidence. "We need his word to assuage the Knight-Commander's fears."

"Irving is on the other side of my protective barrier," Wynne motions to the shimmering purple in the opposite doorway. "I do not know where he is, or even if he still lives."

Sloane spares it a glance, "We are prepared to search for him."

She sighs, "If it will save us from the Rite, very well, I will allow you to pass." Her eyes harden like ice when she looks at Jowan then, "I should warn you that you have a blood mage in your ranks." And then without warning, her icy gaze settles on me and chills me to the bone. I feel the goose flesh pluck at my flesh with just that look. "And someone who's been tainted by dark magic. I would be cautious if I were you."

"I am well aware of what Jowan is," Sloane stands unwavering before her, "and my intended. I appreciate the concern, milady, but I _do not fear_ dark magic." I loose a breath I didn't know I was holding at those simple words he'd said. Sloane isn't afraid of blood magic. That's... well, that's amazing.

"You should," the older woman looks back at Sloane darkly, "and you will when you pass beyond that barrier, Grey Warden, I assure you."

"Not to look a gift horse in the mouth," the brunette mage in short green robes speaks again, "but if you're going past the barrier, I'd like to offer my services. I happen to be rather skilled in offensive magic that the little dirty butt buggers don't like very much."

" _Renzo_ ," Wynne addresses the younger man with a _clack_ of her staff against the dirt-strewn stone floor. "You should stay here with the apprentices."

"Might've if I were still an apprentice," he puffs up his chest. "But I can freely offer my services to the Grey Wardens if I so like, as an _enchanter_."

Her lips thin for a moment, "Very well. You will need a healer, however. I shall go as well."

"No, Wynne," a red-haired woman gasps pleadingly. "With the way you fell earlier, I should go if they need a healer."

"Stay here with the apprentices, Petra. I'll be fine." Her gaze softens some when she glances at the children. Mage children huddled together in a corner with fear painted bright on their faces, and dirt and dried gore slathered on their small robes. Oh my god... the poor things... "Is this acceptable, Warden?" Wynne's voice interrupts my thoughts, and subsequently my urge to go to the children, and do what? Hug them? Promise to kill all the bad spirits? What _can_ I do for them? "I will allow you passage through my barrier, and the aid of two of the remaining mages of Kinloch Hold - myself, and Enchanter Amell."

Did... did she say _Amell_?! But-but Sloane's the Warden! How...? Does that mean... No, that must mean that, if he's really here, that the others... they're all real too. They're all people. All the others that could've been Wardens must've been left behind, or on their own, when Duncan was off conscripting Sloane. That's Amell, but he's _not_ a Warden. I'm probably gaping ridiculously at the guy in shock and confusion, when he comes up to Jowan standing beside me and claps him on the back.

"Nice to see the Templars didn't get to you," the shorter mage seems to attempt to smile.

Jowan snorts. "Like you care, Ren."

"I do," he frowns beneath his scruff. He tilts his head some a moment later when he looks past Jowan to me, "And why are you staring at me, little lady?"

I blink rapidly to clear my head, and quickly try to come up with something reasonable as an excuse for my behavior. "I-I, uh, I, um." I pause and desperately try to stop stuttering. Shit. How do I explain that I didn't even think he existed? But I can't _say_ that without sounding insane.

"Karie," thank you Sloane for saving me from an epic failure at conversation. "Stand with me, love. We don't know what dangers are afoot." I walk quickly towards him, away from that awkward mess right there, and take his proffered hand strangers, and _Wynne_ , be damned. "Are you well?" he asks with concern drawing lines in his face and making him look older than he is.

I glance at the purple magic-made barrier we're approaching, and then back at his expressive face, "We'll see."


	35. Chapter 35

Wynne made the opaque barrier transparent for a moment so we could all pass through. It felt the weirdest though - like the subtle shock from a plasma light and the tingle of something mechanical vibrating. And with each pass over my blood magic markings, it made the lines feel cold and prickle just beneath my skin. I couldn't help the body-wide shiver after passing completely through it, and I subconsciously drew closer to Sloane. I look up to him to find him staring at me with that concern etching his features again. He'll get wrinkles if he keeps that look up.

"I'm okay," I reassure quietly. "That just felt funny."

He scrunches his nose, "Perhaps you should stay-"

"Hell no," I tighten my gloved hand around his, and look down the dark vaulted hall unlit by torchlight with the promise of shadows and spirits around every corner. "This 'll be... difficult."

He sucks in a breath between his teeth, and I feel him return the pressure against my hand, "As you say."

"Grey Warden," I hear Wynne call to Sloane from behind us. "All of your party has passed through. I am sealing the barrier."

"Very well," Sloane straightens his shoulders. "Everyone - ready yourselves." I see out of the corner of my eye that he's wrapped his main hand around the hilt of one of his daggers. I can't do the same, my right hand is wrapped around his left. But even so, Sloane asked me not to fight. And I'd want to agree, since everything's a little unbalanced right now, but I don't think I _can't_ \- not here.

There's a palpable tension in the air as we all stalk forward deeper into the Circle and the mess that it's become. I _just_ hear faint shuffling in a corridor beside us, before quite suddenly one of Leliana's arrows are flying past. I can just make out that it's pierced a rotted corpse to a wooden bench with its grotesque arms flailing about and scrabbling at its neck feebly. Sloane pushes me behind a battered pillar, releases my hand, and takes up both his daggers with a soft sound of the steel sliding against its leather scabbards.

"Stay here, love. I'll look after you," is all he has time to say, before gracing me with a wink while stepping into a shadow and padding away toward the now awakened corpses on silent feet.

I fist my hands into the crumbled mortar of the pillar, so I won't do something stupid - like going against Sloane's orders. Other than us being a _thing_ , he's also my commander, which is something I can't completely disregard even though I'm no soldier. He's _the_ Warden here, and he must get through all this in one way or another, doesn't he? But... that doesn't necessarily mean the same for me.

I hear groans, of both demonic corpse and man, and I honestly can't see much, which is fucking frustrating as all hell. The only good light to be had is from the mage's spells, and even so that's minimal. It's the damned middle of the night, and only a little starlight is coming through the barred high windows. I have my lips between my teeth in nerves, and I'm practically hugging the pillar I'm _hiding_ behind, before I hear a lot of gurgling and a muffled, hoarse scream that sounds much too close. I can't help it when I startle and a surprised, frightened whimper leaves my newly parted lips. I turn in the light of one of Jowan's growing fire spells to see Sloane at the back of a rotting, bloated corpse with one dagger completely through the underside of the thing's chin, and the other buried in its armpit at an odd angle that I know has pierced the creature's heart. He frees his weapons with a sinister look upon his face, and the corpse crumbling and finally giving itself to a true death.

The Warden spins to his left and takes up a new opponent by cutting a thick line in its side and spilling its cold entrails through paper-thin skin. The undead man growls and claws at the elf's face to be met with the pommel of one dagger in his. Sloane then skirts backwards and dives low striking at its knees in a fast, fluid movement. The space between us grows dark as Jowan's spell flies past overhead, and I can't see any more of Sloane's movements. Holy hell. Is it fucking messed up I'm frightened still, but I feel my heart lodged in my throat for an entirely different reason? I'd never payed much attention to how he _fights_ before, blackouts and all.

Part of the pillar I'm hiding behind breaks off in a large chunk to crumble to dust and interrupts my brief musing. I then hear the voice of the man I'd thought wasn't real. "Shouldn't you be using that sword you have there? It looks like it'd be rather pointy and crap-tastically useful right about now." I turn to see Amell's face alighted by subtle green magic fusing that bit of stone into a pointed projectile. "You also look like you'd be a bit of a ball-buster, little lady." The projectile launches out and into a mass of groaning, shuffling bodies.

"Can't," I speak to the direction of his shadow, "because of my... condition." I fumble to explain quickly while keeping one ear open for more advancing skeletons and corpses.

"Oh," I hear him clear his throat. "Well, if that's the case... One moment please." More of the pillar dissolves beneath my fingers, but the slightly green glowing dust of it floats around my armor and adheres to it in a hard shell of stone encasing the pieces of it. This must be rock armor. I can even feel the weight of it on my gloves. "There. That should help everyone involved then, shouldn't it?"

"Thanks...?" I reply a little uncertainly. It helps keep me better protected, sure, but I still can't stop myself from turning into a mindless reaver-monster. I unsheathe my sword shakily and cross it against my body defensively regardless. I won't be left defenseless. Aereweld gifted me the knowledge of battle, and I'll use it if need be. I'm silently thanking her, and Amell too, when a shadow seemingly reaches out and scratches with its claws against the hard stone layer of my armor with a sharp sound that hurts my ears. It's not a shadow though, rather a demonic shade. I can actually _feel_ the dark energy of it bouncing off of the blood magic in my skin. I react after a slight hesitation with my sword reaching out to knock its hands away when it makes for another swipe. Without warning the softly glowing stone seemingly grows from the floor to encase its bottom-half, and entrap it from moving from that spot. The dark creature growls, and swipes again, but I'm pulled backward by the collar with a jarring movement that momentarily knocks my feet from underneath me. Sloane's there suddenly behind me, one hand still on my armored collar while I get my feet under me again, and the other hand throwing a knife that lodges into the shade's singular eye with a soft _swish_ through the stale air. The creature shrieks as it tries to move, both from that spot and to remove the knife from its now oozing eye. There's another soft sound of metal whistling through the air, and another knife in the creature's neck. It must've hit something crucial, because a lot more ichor than I'd thought could come from such a wound spills forth to pool against the floor in acidic, smoking puddles.

Both Sloane and I are hit from behind by something that's really fucking _hot_. A pained, muffled scream hisses through Sloane's teeth, but I'm not nearly as hurt given the rock armor. I feel the blood magic in my skin jolt at the burning sensation regardless, and I consciously try to put a damper on it. I'm turned towards the thing that hit us before Sloane, as he's struggling not to double over in pain. The thing's a spirit of rage, and it's bubbled out of the floor with soot and ash that are starting to clog the air. It laughs mockingly, and curls its shoulders in preparation of ramming us again. I react before I can think, and light up brighter than its molten flames could ever hope to be. I fight with the blood magic that's a part of me while I tap into it, and vow not to submit to its pain. I reach out my hands towards the spirit, and focus on the sensations I know to lead to the familiar surge of an aura of pain. I hear screams and curses all around, friend and foe, and I grit my teeth in an effort not to loose myself. I let go of the feeling of my aura's power at the cooling, calming sensation of one of the mage's auras around me, blanketing me and snuffing out my harmful power. The beasts are dazed and frazzled, and I recognize the satisfied sounds of a battle drawing at its end. When I turn to look for Sloane, panting, aching, and cursing under my breath, I find the spot I'd last seen him in empty with nothing but shadows in his stead.

Fear for him bubbles up through me as cruel as any blade, and replaces the ebbing pain in my flesh at the forefront of my mind. When the sounds of weapons finally wane, a bright white light arcs out like a miniature supernova from the top of Wynne's staff and with it, completely rids me of any and all pains and aches. It lights the area momentarily while the magic takes affect, and I finally spot Sloane a few paces away staring at me with an unreadable expression on his square features. Shit. Is he pissed?

"S-Sloane," I walk towards him stuttering and stumbling and internally fighting with myself as to what to say or _do_. I'm such a mess.

"That bloody hurt," he grumbles while I approach, and I don't know if that's in reference to the rage spirit's attack, or my aura of pain. "I'd thought we'd agreed no fighting, dearest?" He asks, though he looks more disappointed than angry. It still hurts to see that look on him though.

"I-I, well, I-" I squeak. I flick my gaze down at the top of my stone-encased boots unable to continue to meet the depth of emotion in his hazel eyes, and curse at myself silently. I don't want to cause anyone any kind of trouble, but it just seems that I do either way - if I fight or not.

"I'm not angry, love," he reaches out and smooths a fingerless gloved hand along the swell of my cheek while I turn my gaze towards him again. "I could never be with you. For long, at least. Just, please, restrain yourself better. If you can," he amends with attempted gentleness while the high of adrenaline too fades from his expression. The corners of his lips lift a bit, and with the movement the corners of his eyes crinkle beneath the sweat and dirt of battle on his face. "Hmm. Perhaps since we're both injured now, we can kiss each others' wounds and make them better?" He questions with a new lightness and threads his fingers in the hair at the nape of my neck. I feel an answering smile claim my lips, and the feeling of relief flood my mind.

"Grey Warden." I look past Sloane's shoulder to where the red robe-clad mage is standing with a frown down-turning her lips, and narrowed eyes. Wynne... doesn't look happy. "I would speak with you a moment, if I may." The words may be polite, but the tone is demanding.

Sloane sighs a long sigh, and winks at me playfully, "We'll have to save the kissing of wounds for a later time then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I've ever mentioned Sloane's specialization - he's a Shadow, in case that hasn't been clear.


	36. Chapter 36

"That dark aura was yours then?" Amell walks towards me with a soft green light emanating from the top of his twisted wooden staff and making it possible to see a little better while Wynne's magic slowly ebbs from the room. "That was a tushie kicker. Felt worse than when Jowan first gave entropic magics a go."

"Hey," Jowan squawks and slides out from a shadow with his arms crossed against his chest defensively. "You're never going to let that go, are you? I'll have you know I'm better at it now, since we'd figured out that's where my abilities most align."

I look between the taller men and see Sloane salute me lightheartedly a few paces away before he turns a corner in the room with Wynne. Amell gets my attention again when he rolls his big brown eyes and huffs a chuckle, "Only because Senior Enchanter Karl convinced you primal magics were not your strong-suit despite your insistence."

"Not my fault I'd wanted to stay with my friends during lessons! All of you are elementalists and galvanists!" I have _no_ idea why they're even arguing...

"You forgot Anders."

"He was only moved to Wynne's class after his Harrowing! He was with you all in primal lessons for years, while I had Sweeney and his dull drone to listen to. 'Jowan, where are my spectacles?'" His voice drops and becomes raspy with his mocking, "He'd ask every half-hour at least!"

"Well, Sweeney's bit the dust, as they say. You won't have to worry about him pestering you anymore," Amell frowns harshly.

"Oh," Jowan says simply and deflates in on himself. And now the silence is sad. All the corpses and walking dead we had just fought were all Templars and mages of this Circle. They were all people that these two probably knew of, at least in passing. I feel a little awkward just standing here while they mourn someone they knew and saw on a daily basis, and whom I only know of from a game.

"...Did you say Anders?" I start in an effort to pluck the gloom from the oppressive air. I know I can't stand there like that for much longer. It's bad enough Wynne's probably talking shit about me. I think that aura that had snuffed me out was hers... Both of the men blink down at me though, and their gazes turn from solemn to curious. "Blonde guy? Has a thing for cats? Likes feathers on his clothes?"

"You know Anders!" Amell smiles toothily. "Now, do you know him or do you _know_ know him? He'd certainly went on about his exploits whenever the Templars dragged him back by the feathery scruff from one of his failed escape attempts."

I feel my cheeks pink in embarrassment from the implications in his question, and stutter back a reply, "N-no. I've never met him."

"But you'd just described-"

Jowan interrupts Amell's argument and takes a step closer towards me while he explains in my stead, "Karie here has a gift in foresight. She knows a lot about people she's never met, or has hardly met before."

"Oh, how unusual," Amell tilts his head some while he thinks on that with a lot of blinking, and then I just faintly hear one of Sloane's characteristic snapping ' _enough_ 's coming from the other side of the room. Dear lord. Did he just yell at Wynne?

Jowan looks in the direction of the shout, and states the obvious, "That doesn't sound good." He takes a short breath, "I hope she doesn't try to use that staff of hers on the Warden Commander."

I feel my face scrunch and a bitter twist turn my lips. "I was only trying to help, you know. That rage spirit hurt Sloane! What was I supposed to do? _Nothing_?!"

"I believe your Warden has just argued a similar point," I see Zevran walking towards us in the dim light with an inherit swagger in his steps. One elegantly pointed ear flicks, and then a smug smirk curls his lips with a mischievous glitter in his eyes, "This is quite good! I only wish I'd joined your lot sooner if merely for entertainment's sake!" He chuckles richly, before tilting his head and openly ogling Amell's slight form with his eyes straying on the mage's robe-covered behind. "Although the company is quite _pleasant_ too, no?"

Amell sputters a lot of half-words at that, but I interrupt him by walking purposefully into Zevran's personal space and garnering the assassin's attention again. "What are they saying?" I ask with a half-botched attempt at a harsh tone while trying to cover-up the insecurity and anxiety clawing at the back of my mind. Elves have an impressive range of hearing, and I wish I had the same abilities, if only to calm my haywire thoughts.

Zevran's eyes squint knowingly, "You are the seer, are you not? Should you not already be in possession of this knowledge?"

"I don't know everything," I breathe. "I can't. And..." I hesitate just briefly before saying something that's a little too true, and quite worrisome, "I know _nothing_ about my future here."

Zevran's expression smooths out some at that. Everything I feel is openly displayed in my expression, since I've never been able to hide it well, so I'm sure he can tell I'm not stringing him along. "You need not worry then, pequeña dulce. Your man is defending you well. You are fortunate in that," he finishes softly, and I'm not sure he'd even said that last bit at first. Oh, right. I remember what led him to Ferelden. My youngest sister was... is a huge Zevran fan. Much more than me. Every single Origins character she'd played romanced him... Leigh would be _so_ jealous, on second thought.

"What is that smile on your face for?" Zev prompts and interrupts my slight fan-girl moment.

I consciously have to fight the unbidden goofy smile that had spread firmly on my face. I clear my throat some before answering, "My sister would've loved you," I reply honestly.

"Oh?" He looks positively intrigued. "Perhaps I would like to meet her then." The Antivan's expression is both dark and playful.

The smile is completely wiped off of my face when I say, "My family's gone," in a tone dead to emotion and feeling. That's not quite true. _I'm_ the one that's gone from that world, not them. But even so, we are separated and nothing that happens can change that.

"Everyone, see to your wounds and ensure your weapons are battle-worthy," I startle some and look towards where Sloane is coming around from the corner he was speaking with Wynne at. I notice that he's purposefully walking with heavy steps echoing off of the stone walls and floor. Even so, he's avoiding what gore can be seen in the dim lighting with an ease that's familiar to see. He doesn't seem to be _too_ pissed. "We are moving on, everyone. The sooner we come across the First Enchanter, the better," he announces somewhat loudly.

I smile sadly at the men I was talking to in a kind of goodbye of sorts, and move off in Sloane's direction carefully without a word more to them. Everything's just so fucking depressing and difficult all the time. Can't something be normal and good, for once? "What 'd Wynne say?" I ask tentatively when I stop before him with my fingers twisting together with the flux of my emotions and thoughts. I'm unable to clearly make out his expression in the play of shadows, and I silently worry a bit at that too.

He shakes his head, "Nothing worth repeating. I promise you, love." He takes one of my gloved hands in his, and presses a kiss to the back of it that I can barely feel beneath the leather in an attempt to soothe me, and perhaps even himself. "I believe we are due for a respite soon, are we not? How about once we're free of this place, we spend some time together. Would you like that?"

It seems he's had just about enough of all this shit too. I smile slightly before answering with a measure of relief and gratitude, "Yeah." I blink at him once I remember something that I haven't yet mentioned. "I know where the First Enchanter is. He's on the top floor."

"Of course," he snorts, but smiles slightly all the same. "Let's pray to the Maker we make it there quickly then, love."


	37. Chapter 37

_"Let's pray to the Maker we make it there quickly then, love."_

* * *

We skirt through the remainder of the decimated main hall at a rapid pace, at Sloane's behest and with the Circle mages of our group directing us to the fastest route to the main staircase for the next floor. We all keep an ear and eye out for survivors in the battered, dark corridors along the way, but none have been discovered so far. More bodies though. Always more bodies. Randall's out front scouting ahead as a mabari does, with his nose to the floor and his ears perked for any subtle sounds to be heard. He can outpace most of us, so it's useful to have him acting as such. He has sniffed out a couple of corpses that have needed re-killed. Not so many as when we'd first passed through the barrier, but enough so we'd not forget there's blood magic about. Not that I'd forget any time soon. I'm feeling sick with all the dark power and unusual sensations alighting along my blood magic lines, and ricocheting through my body cruelly. There's _a lot_ of blood magic in the air. I can even feel the vortex of power seeping into my very bones with an ever-present dull ache.

"You look a little green about the gills there, Karie," Sloane comments to me from where we're walking just behind Jowan and Amell leading the way. Wynne's further back, as she prefers less offensive magic, and perhaps even so she can keep an eye on things as she seems to have charged herself with doing. I'm mentally rolling my eyes. It's best if I don't think on that overly much. But, everyone else is where they please. I haven't even seen Zevran for the last few minutes, but he always shows up a few moments later with a small smile on his face, and shoving something into one of his pockets. Damned kleptomaniac is going to scrounge up trouble if he keeps going off on his own though.

"I feel a little nauseous," I return while looking up at Sloane after a moment's thought. "But I'll be okay," I try to reassure when he gets that damned furrow between his brows as his concern spikes again. It's sweet, and I totally adore it, but I'm _not_ a fragile glass doll. Every ache and pain does not automatically warrant a fuss.

"Perhaps you should see Senior Enchanter Wynne, lady Karie," Amell suggests while looking over his shoulder at us. "What with your condition and all this fighting, I'm sure it's taxing on your body." He shrugs, "Then again, I'm no healer graced with the mighty Maker's niftiest gifts either. It just might be a good idea to make sure you're well, is all."

"We should all ensure we're ready for anything, no?" Zevran's suddenly there beside me, and putting a vial of something faintly glowing an icy blue into one of the pouches on his belts. I see him lean forward in the dim lighting of the mage's staffs and purposefully brush his lips against the shell of Amell's ear. "And I always am."

Zevran laughs richly when Amell squawks and jumps slightly away with a hand smacking over that ear and rubbing it furiously in an apparent attempt to rid himself of the feeling of Zevran's lips. "Well, I'll be-" The man huffs a breath while still holding his ear protectively, and then he looks over his shoulder to glare at Zevran. "You're as feisty as an apprentice hyped up on Rivaini coffee, aren't you?"

"The assassin's a flirt, Ren," Jowan states matter-of-factly with a small shrug of his shoulders. "Don't take it personally."

"Assassin?" The other mage parrots questioningly with widened eyes and a dumbfounded look as if he's never met an assassin before. Oh. Well, maybe he hasn't. Actually, Zevran's the first assassin I've ever met too...

"Zevran Arainai, formally of the Antivan Crows," Zevran dips his head and crosses one arm against his chest lightly while simultaneously interrupting my musing. A wicked smirk darkens the elf's features before he continues, "You _might_ be interested to know that amongst my time within the Crows, I have obtained knowledge of over a dozen ways to _disable_ a man," his voice drops huskily with the end of his sentence, while he holds Amell's bright gaze with a smoldering one of his own.

"Oh... that's... interesting," Amell manages to squeak out while looking absolutely stunned. I can see Jowan on the other side of his friend holding his free hand over his mouth while watching the exchange. The silent chuckles he's trying to hold in are bouncing his staff around and making the dull orange mage-light flick about against the walls. I feel an amused smile spread across my face too at their expense.

Sloane clears his throat beside me, and I turn to see him trying to school his features feebly. "Just follow the mages, Zevran," he orders with faux harshness.

"That won't be a problem, Warden," Zevran replies glibly while straightening his broad shoulders, though his gaze strays dangerously low again before his honeyed orbs flick back up to where Amell's still gawking at him over his shoulder. "I am quite enjoying the view."

Jowan snorts loudly at that, and Amell turns toward him with a scowl quite visibly painted on his pinked face beneath his scruff in the soft light of his staff. "Sorry, sorry," Jowan waves one hand about. "Ignore me." Amell 'hmphs', but continues to navigate the halls with fast footsteps after snapping his head forward.

I look towards Sloane with amusement lighting my expression, and making the gloom of our situation clear from it momentarily even with the oppressive and dark sensations still feathering along my skin sluggishly. Sloane's expression is void of the same lightheartedness I'm feeling though when my eyes finally meet his, and it causes a small frown to quickly take my smile's place. "What is it?" I ask quietly.

"Perhaps he's right," he nods his head in the direction of Amell's back, "and you should see the Senior Enchanter."

I shake my head quickly. "I'm sure there's nothing she can do. _And_ if I _do_ need healing, I can heal myself."

His ruddy brows furrow deeper with the shadows playing harshly on the square contours of his face, "She had seemed to possess quite a bit of... insight on you, when we had spoken earlier. Regardless, she should at least know of a way to lessen your nausea, since she is a healer of the magical variety." I frown harsher in turn, and he sighs a long sigh, "At least see her to assuage my own fears. Please, love. I couldn't bare it if something were to happen to you here."

I feel my frown let up some while I think on that. He does look quite genuinely worried and distressed. And maybe... Wynne _might_ know something that could be useful. She's a senior enchanter after all. I can... I can stand to be in Wynne's presence for a little bit, at least. Can't I? I haven't even _spoken_ with her yet. In person, and not in the game. My opinions of her then shouldn't matter now. "Okay," God I'm _such_ a pushover, "but our safe-word is _grapefruit_. Got it?" I point at him with one finger, while my lips thin in mild annoyance despite my agreement to his request.

"A... safe-word?" He looks confused with his head just subtly tilted and his eyes narrowed in thought.

"You know," I wave a hand while I try to explain with timidity coloring my voice. I can't believe I have to explain. Shouldn't he know? "A word you agree to say when something gets too... uncomfortable. It's... usually used during sex," I say just a touch bashfully, "but I'll say 'grapefruit' if I want you to get me away from Wynne."

"I am rather fond of using the word 'bronto' for such purposes," I hear Zevran comment from where he's still walking near us and totally eavesdropping on our conversation. "No one shouts 'bronto' if they are quite enjoying what you're doing."

I nod my head and feel myself relax some while I wave with one hand in Zevran's direction briefly, "See? He knows."

Sloane blinks a few times while he processes this new information with a perplexed look firmly in place. "I shall listen for the word 'grapefruit' then?" His words are more of a question than a statement though.

"Sounds good," I struggle to smile at him, before I look over my shoulder briefly to where Wynne's walking several paces behind us all with a soft white mage-light illuminating the area around her. I turn with the intention of walking towards her when Sloane reaches out and takes my bicep in his hand gently.

"Love," he addresses me when I look up towards him. "Thank you for doing this despite your hesitance. I should warn you, she is... vexing though."

My lips thin again, "Yeah. I know." I say simply, before I start walking towards the back of our line. I wave companionably at Alistair briefly on my way though, and he returns the gesture with his plate and mail armor clanking loudly in the unnatural silence of the place we're in. Wynne's eyes regard me coldly when I finally turn to walk beside her with at least an arm's length of space between us. Without much hesitation, I start to explain why I'm there beside her. I swallow any nervousness, and promise to myself to at least give her a chance even with my preconceptions of her. "Sloane... the Warden Commander," I correct, "wanted me to seek healing from you." I attempt to speak in a way Aereweld or maybe even Sloane would, and even try to force a bit of my distinctive accent from my voice. It's difficult, and I don't think she's really buying my attempts to come across as 'normal'. I don't think I could explain _everything_ to her in any sort of reasonable way. Not that I should have to. I can speak and act like a 'normal' Ferelden.

Wynne looks at me critically for a moment with narrowed eyes, "What ails you?" she breathes shortly.

"I... have been made reaver by way of blood magic inlaid in my flesh," I speak slowly and try to explain while maintaining my attempted Ferelden-ness, "the lines are... sensitive to shifts in the Veil. I'm... nauseous."

"Perhaps you should have considered such things before you allowed maleficar to grant you such abilities," she says scathingly, and seemingly without much prompting such blunt, cutting words.

I'm gaping at her and stuttering while my accent comes back full-force, "I-I _never_ ," I take a quick breath in preparation of continuing, but she interrupts.

"You see what it has done here, haven't you? Blood magic only brings pain and suffering to those who are foolish enough to believe it would benefit them," she sniffles disdainfully. "I feel no sympathy for those who do."

"Do not interrupt me," I snap when I'm given the chance, and simultaneously I feel anger whiplash through me. I return her heated glare when I continue, "Maybe before you go on a tirade, you should actually know something about the person you are belittling." I feel my face scrunch severely, "I was _kidnapped_ by a cult of blood mages who thought it would be fun to stick a bunch of blood magic in my skin and turn me into their pet _bitch_ ," I notice in the back of my head that my voice is rising while I'm spitting all these very personal things heedlessly, "I _did not_ ask for this. And I _never_ would. I cannot control it, and it fucking hurts all the damned time!" I huff a breath while glaring up at the older woman, "I knew it was a mistake to go to you for help. I was apparently wrong to think you could." I curl my hands in on themselves and move to stalk off without even having needed to use the word 'grapefruit'. And now I'm pissed over nothing. A waste of fucking time...

"Wait," Wynne calls towards my back in a voice that's the smallest bit chagrined. "Perhaps... I can attempt to ease what ails you."

I turn around and stop in the dark hall before her, "And afterwards I _do not_ want to talk to you _ever_ again," I say quietly. I haven't had anyone throw such hurtful accusations at me in... in a long time. I don't have to deal with it. I don't deserve it. She nods her head once, and holds out one faintly blue-white glowing hand that encases me in the glow of it after a moment. The feeling of nausea slowly eases from the pit of my stomach, but the sensation of the dark magic lapping at my skin is still there when her magic fades completely from my body.

"That should last for a time, at least," she says, and flicks her eyes away from me before she starts on walking again with a defiant set to her jaw and an unreadable expression on her aged face.

She didn't even apologize! I huff a breath angrily, and walk back quickly towards Sloane and the others while ignoring everyone I pass. I'm consumed in a whirlwind of my thoughts and feelings at the absurdity of my interaction with that woman. "Do you feel better, Karie?" Sloane asks me in a quiet tone, and breaks me slightly from my brooding. I'm staring at the bloodstained floor cursing, well, cursing Wynne and blood magic silently in my head. I just _knew_ I wouldn't like speaking to her.

"Yeah, but I don't even know if it was worth-" I look up to meet his gaze, and pause in the middle of my sentence when I notice an odd look held in the lines of his tawny skin still streaked with dirt and sweat. "What's that look for?" I ask a bit befuddled.

"I'd informed him of what kind of activities would typically require the use of a 'safe-word' as you call it," Zevran comments in a pleased tone a couple steps away. "In detail. Your Warden is quite lacking in knowledge on such things," he sighs a long, drawn out sound, "It's quite a pity that such a magnificent man has not yet experienced such pleasures."

I turn towards the assassin still in the pissed mood from the conversation with Wynne, and speak to him atypically sarcastically in a biting tone, "Well, _thank you_."

"You are quite welcome," he grins cheekily at me with pride and amusement both shining brightly in his eyes.

I look towards Jowan's back then with a hand swiping across my face in a mixture of exasperation and frustration, "Are we getting close to the stairs yet, Jowan?"

"We are nearing the doors now," he turns slightly to look towards me in the orange glow of his pole-arm-like staff, "Tired of the Circle already?"

I nod and mumbled a barely audible, 'yep,' while wishing that the doors were _right there_ just because I'd like to be preoccupied with something else right now. Even if they're just stairs.


	38. Chapter 38

_"Tired of the Circle already?"_

* * *

There's... a lot of stairs in the Circle. And you can't just go from the bottom-most floor of the Circle straight to the top either, since each floor's stairs are on opposite sides stacking from floor-to-floor. The initial seven-or-so flights of stairs we'd scaled to get to the main entry-way where we'd come across the Templars barring the Circle doors, were floors that looked to be for housing Templars and supplies. The actual Circle part is way the heck high up, which is apparently to prevent too many escape attempts. How the hell Anders ever managed to escape form here, and so many times by the sounds of it to boot, I don't know, but it's impressive. But I'd wish I'd knew. If I'd knew, I could have helped free those mage children and the rest of the survivors without the threat of demons getting to them while we stomp our way up these endless stairs trying to find the illusive Irving and end this all.

"Why all the stairs?" I huff on an exhale to no one in particular. I'm cranky now, that 'talk' with Wynne put me in a foul mood, and there's just so many damned stairs we have to go up out of everything else.

"You'd have to ask the Tevinters," Amell explains while turning a bit to look at me with a look of genuine interest for the topic alighting his expression in the flicker of his mage-light. "Most of their architecture built at this time seems to possess a great deal of stairs, bridges, and large statues. This tower once was used primarily for storage for the Archon, and - _omph_." There's a whole lot of flailing limbs and a clatter as we all abruptly come to a halt in the stairwell since Amell has tripped... over nothing? There doesn't appear to be any spirits manifesting from the stone of the walls or steps, and what skeletons were here were back at the door to the staircase groaning to be let out and start killing anew. "Fuck a duck, that smarts," he grumbles while rubbing his elbow with a sour turn to his lips beneath his scruff.

"Ren's accident prone," Jowan turns a bit to look down at his friend, who's now fumbling for his now not-glowing staff in the din of this enclosed space, with laughter coloring his voice. "Aren't you?"

"Oh, don't patronize me Serrah Chain-Lightning-Explodes-When-I-Summon-It," Amell grumbles with a twitch of his nose. "You could at least help me up, you dolt."

"Allow me," Zevran says excitedly while hefting the, apparently accident prone, mage upright by the forearm despite a squawk of protest from the human. "Mind your feet, my friend. If you are to fall to your knees before me, I'd prefer it to be where there's less demons and walking skeletons about, no?"

"Zevran," I say chidingly while withholding a sudden bought of the giggles - Amell has turned three shades of red at the assassin's words. "The guy won't be able to fight at this rate, you'll fuck him up."

"That is exactly what I wish to do," Zevran smirks with a rougish tilt to his lips and winks at me.

I laugh, and with it I release myself from the haze of grumpiness that had clung to me. My freeing laughter is abruptly cut off when I feel a... rippling, like the waves of the lake surrounding us beneath my feet in the stone of the step I'm standing firmly on. I can't discount the feeling outright, since it's awakened the pangs of nausea in the depths of my stomach and the uneasy flickering of my blood magic markings. I couldn't even be certain I'd felt it at first, if it wasn't for that. "Jowan," I look up at the blood mage with widened eyes in fear, "Did you feel that?"

"That was a large shift," he breathes out slowly, "a powerful demon must have crossed over beneath us." He looks towards Sloane with a flicker of that earlier confidence he'd had after healing himself with my life-force back in Redcliffe, "I don't think we have much time, Commander."

Sloane nods and signals Randall to start off again at the lead with a short hand movement before addressing us all, "Let's hurry then. I don't think we need any more incentive."

"The sooner we locate Irving, the more lives we can save," Wynne reminds us from the back of the line with a weary undercurrent to her tone. "We must put an end to this madness before it's too late to stop it at all."

"We're trying, Senior Enchanter," Amell looks towards the older woman still with a nervousness in his movements while he straightens his green robes that had rumpled from his fall. "I don't think any of us would be here if we didn't given two shits about the state of everything."

"Perhaps we should cut this short," Leliana interjects in a voice more worried than not, "I could feel that disturbance as well, and I have not yet felt anything quite of its kind. By Andraste, it felt as if the cold of the Fade itself was seeping into the very stone."

"Sloth," I whisper, and then continue a little louder. "There's spirits of rage, hunger, and desire here, but there's a powerful one of sloth. We have to pass it to get to Irving."

Sloane takes my hand and says with enough urgency to make my heart suddenly lodge in my throat at the stark severity of our situation, "Warn us when we near it." We could die here. Very capable people have _died_ here, and I've been too wrapped up in my own problems to keep that in mind.

"And how do you know this, pray tell?" Wynne snaps in my general direction, and interrupts Sloane. "Are you a conspirator with the blood mages? Do you dabble with demons?"

"She's a clairvoyant, Senior Enchanter," Amell, strangely enough, answers for me.

"Blessed by Foresight," Wynne mutters just loud enough for me to make out. "The Spirits have come to bring balance to the Demons' destruction. Blessed are the scions of the Maker's first children. May we eradicate this chaos by Andraste's will."

I am momentarily overcome by Wynne's strangely sobering words as I try to grasp them, but we've stopped long enough, and with some encouragement I join the others in scurrying through the rest of the stairwell. All the while I feel more of those strange rippling disturbances along the way, and by the time we reach the next set of doors, these to the second floor of the Circle, I'm clenching my fists in anticipation of something big and nasty on the other side... but there's just a Tranquil mage standing amongst ruined boxes and covered in dust and dirt. Where's the spirit that's traveling in the floor between parts of the Circle? Where's the creatures the spirit has corrupted?

"Owain?" Jowan asks with a bemused blink and tilt to his head. This whole area is much more well lit by torchlight, though it is still dark and full of shadows due to the time of night.

"What are you doing here?" Amell adds, "Why haven't you hidden?"

"Enchanter Renzo Amell, advanced to Enchanter early due to Senior Enchanter Sweeney's death at the battle of Ostagar," the Tranquil mage says without answering a single question with a dull, lifeless drone that makes a chill settle at the base of my spine. The poor man's forehead has an angry sun-shaped scar blazing against the white of his forehead, and ultimately causing his condition. He makes me uneasy - the way he's too still, the way his voice is too flat, and the way his eyes are too unfocused. I keep my place by the stairwell in my unease, I don't want to get any closer to that man. I know well enough it's not his fault, but he's just too damned creepy. "A gifted mage, and still alive. Your status will be recorded in my log."

"What log?"

"I am recording the events of the Circle lock-down for future revision," the Tranquil mage blinks once, slowly. "My last entry was, 'Niall - given the Litany of Adralla.'"

"Are you just as creeped out as me by this mage?" Alistair whispers to me, and I nod without looking at him. We're both apparently the 'fraidy-cats here, being that we're choosing to stay the closest to the relatively secure stairwell. Deadly shit around every corner, creepy-ass Tranquil mages, and a bunch of hostile blood mages lurking around here somewhere. Fun times at the Circle, fun times.


	39. Chapter 39

_"Are you just as creeped out as me by this mage?"_

* * *

We're startled out of our strange and rather unnatural exchange with Owain when we hear a clatter and muffled curses coming from the adjacent corridor to the entry hall of the second floor. Everyone's eyes fly towards me after a brief look to the direction of the noises, even Wynne's and Sten's... wait. Sten. Shit. Irrationally I have the urge of curling in on myself with the large Qunari man towering over me and holding a look of severe scrutiny and slight anticipation on his sharp features. I've spoken to him so few times I could count them on one hand, and I've been in his company for some time now. He still scares me something fierce sometimes. Even having all my other rather deadly companions' attentions turned on me isn't nearly so bad. He could kill me if he wanted to, reaver markings or no.

"Karie," Sloane calls me gently, and I tear my eyes away from Sten and his huge broadsword to look at the man I'm following and helping, my 'boyfriend'... I think. There's definitely some more complex emotions between us than I'm used to there being with people I've dated in the past. And he calls me his 'intended'. I'm still unsure on that, what that truly _means_ for him and in turn what it means for me. "Do you know what that was?"

Beyond the obvious dark magic given away by the stomach churning sensations alighting along my skin and flickering down the corrupted blood magic lines embedded in my flesh like the shocks of static electricity, I think I might remember this part well enough. It's been awhile since I've played the game, and things fade with time, but there's a few bits here and there that are familiar. I blink at him once, twice, and force myself to quit hugging my middle and calm the fuck down. I don't have to worry about Sten. He seems loyal enough to Sloane, and there's demons and bad, bad things here that really should garner my attention more. "Blood mages," I mutter lowly with a throat much too dry. Jowan's a blood mage, and I'm not afraid of him. He's my friend. I'm afraid of _certain_ blood mages. And if these guys prove to be just as screwed in the head as the men that brought me to Thedas, well, we're in some deep shit then.

Sloane holds out one fingerless gloved hand for me to take, and I grasp it eagerly as the security blanket it has become to me. I meet his bright hazel eyes with my dark orbs, and I am suddenly struck with the realization that I'd fall apart without Sloane. If he died, I'd loose it. He means so much to me. This isn't probably the best time to be thinking on such things, but there it is. Things like this just come about. There's no written play-by-play for how this is supposed to go. This _isn't_ the game. This is real. I'm here, and... I think I might be falling for Sloane. A guy who back home is nothing more than a piece of fiction. My hand clamps tighter around his while I silently berate myself for the somersaults my thoughts do, and I tell myself to focus - there's blood mages, and there will be plenty of time to analyze the hell out of my whirlwind of emotions later. I notice Sloane's looking at me critically with his head just slightly tilted and a barely discernible furrow to his brow. "Are these blood mages something to be feared?" He asks oblivious to the turn my mind has taken.

I start to shake my head, and then stop. I actually don't know that. "Um," I sway closer towards him with everyone looking on in anticipation of my next words, and decide I ought to continue a little louder for their benefit. "They might be. They're expecting a fight."

Sloane nods and turns to look towards his mabari, "Randall - keep Karie safe," he orders and then looks up at the rest of our companions, "Blades, I want you to take point. Alistair, smite them at the first opportunity you have. Mages, save Morrigan, keep your distance. Everyone else, do as you do." Sloane raises my hand and kisses the back of it, though all I can feel is the slight pressure through the leather of my glove, and I swear I hear a faint feminine giggle coming from Leliana's direction. But when I look towards the redheaded Orlesian, her expression is as stoic as ever. With my face still turned towards Leliana, I feel the shape of Sloane's lips pressing against my forehead, and I flick my eyes back to him while he pulls away from giving me that short, chaste kiss. That was apparently his way of getting my attention to focus on him, and it certainly did the trick. I watch a bit of worry flicker through his expression while he lowers his voice just for me to hear, and says with a strained undercurrent to his tone, "Please refrain from entering this battle, love. I do worry for you."

"I'll try," I promise, and that has to be enough. I can't do more than that. I will fight if I think I need to, if I have no choice but to.

The blood mages are waiting for us. Together, we all make far too much noise to be anything resembling stealthy. Sten and Alistair, being that they're at the front of our group, are immediately hit by something that looks like a wall of smokey red and black. That cloud of dark, smokey magic cocoons around them, and their choking gasps pierce through the white noise of weapons readying and spells coming to life. "Shit, shit, shit," I mutter under my breath, and I sharply turn to see Jowan struggling to manifest a pillar of invisible magic from his extended palms. The magic punches through the dark smoke around our two other warriors with a powerful sound like two cars _smacking_ into each other on the highway. The smoke billows and ripples for a heartbeat before fading out in inky tendrils that fly away into nothingness. I recognize that spell Jowan did from the knowledge Aereweld had gifted to me - it was a burst of shielding magic that rid our warriors of that harmful spell that was feeding on their very life-forces.

Randall pushes on my knees with his large shoulders, and nearly makes me trip over my own heavily booted feet. I walk in the direction the mabari's herding me to, while watching the chaos ensue with my heart lodged in my throat and my eyes widened in a mixture of shock and fear. Randall leads me towards a pile of crates, and I quickly take the hint. I crouch behind them with my armor grating against itself. I still have Amell's rock armor adhered in a thin, but tough, layer on my Dalish-made leathers, and it helps to ease my worries for my own well-being. I'm plenty protected, safe, but the others aren't so much. I worry for them. The sounds coming from that room are nothing short of terrible and there seemed to be more blood mages in that room than I remember in the game. On the wake of that thought, I feel tremors surging through the stone of the floor increasing with intensity after every breath I take, and I find myself closing my eyes in an attempt to get a grip on my fears. That _had_ to be a spell. Please don't let it have been from the dark spirits that plague this place. If it was... I'm afraid for Sloane, and my friends. I'm stuck here _hiding_ because I can't be trusted to control my damned reaver abilities, when I should be helping them survive this madness if I could. My eyes suddenly pop open when Randall growls such a menacing sound that I instinctively cower from, before I even know what he's growling at. It seems a blood mage made it past our party, and he's found my hiding place in the entry hall behind some of Owain's crates.

Randall lunges at the man, all claws and teeth, but the blood mage holds a small dagger aloft in one hand before slicing it against his opposite palm in an arching movement that sprays his vile blood against his filthy robes and the floor. The torchlight in the room flickers with the faint glow of that blood when Randall suddenly freezes still with a heart-breaking whimper echoing around him. The blood mage looses a gruff chuckle at the mabari's cries while the invisible hold on the poor dog seems to increase in intensity as his pained noises grow louder. I don't know what to do. I'm watching this all happen, but I don't know what to do. I feel completely useless, but I should _do_ something, shouldn't I?

Sloane's suddenly there like the hero he was born to be with one of his daggers flashing at the blood mage's back. But this blood mage isn't like the others, he dodges Sloane's attempt at a crippling back-stab and raises his own dagger against the elf's. A short-sword born of the mage's blood magic-infused mana takes shape in the man's opposite hand. The man slashes at Sloane with the mana-made sword as if it were something solid and real, and nicks the Warden-Commander on his armored shoulder with a hiss of pain. This blood mage is a force to be reckoned with, being that he's obviously had combat training of some kind, and he's fabricated a weapon out of... telekinetic energy? Aereweld's memories show something similar, of steel weapons infused with the energies, but this is even so different from what I remember of the game too. In that same moment Sloane bends low and strikes out at the man's cloth-covered middle, and draws blood. The blood mage hisses out a sharp breath, but then that blood is bubbling up before dispersing along the man's body like mist, and absorbing into the mage's skin to further feed his abilities. The mage then cuts with a downwards motion, but Sloane sidesteps before kicking out with his leg turned and bent at the man's knee. That powerful kick lands home, and the blood mage, helpless to the crippling pain in his shattered knee, crumbles in a heap to the floor. With his expression cloaked in shadow, and with me unable to gauge his thoughts, Sloane ruthlessly ends the man's life with a swift motion of his favored blade against the delicate skin of the mage's neck before he's given the chance of retaliation. The blood that pours forth from the wound is both too much for the blood mage to steam, and too much for him to use. The glow of his blood dies out with his life in the flickering torchlight.

Both of our heads snap up from looking at the mage's lifeless body when a horrific scream pierces through the air. Heedless of what dangers there may be, I rush towards the adjacent room with an all-consuming fear for what I might find as the cause of that horrible, horrible sound. I enter the room to see a tall brunette woman kneeling on the floor before our companion Circle mages Jowan, Amell, and Wynne. "Please, please, _please_ have mercy," she cries out with tears streaming down her dirt-marred skin while one hand grasps tightly against a gushing wound in her orange-robed shoulder. "I did not mean it. Oh, fluffy bunnies, I did not mean it. I never made a deal with a demon! I swear! Please do not kill me! They only taught me the spells! I could not make the deal! Please! You must believe me! I only wanted to be free of the Templars! I only wanted to live free! Please do not kill me!"

"Liana," Jowan addresses the mage while scrubbing a hand through his messy hair with a troubled look on his face, "you're a blood mage too?"

"Please do not kill me," the woman begs in a heavy German accent whimpering as she shifts her weight and puts more pressure on her wound. "I did not hurt anyone! I swear! I only defended myself! You must believe me!" She's absolutely terrified with the glistening of sweat off her pale skin in the sparse mage-light and torchlight, and her eyes are round and blown wide in fear, fear for her life.

"How did you get wrapped up in all this?" Wynne asks wearily while shaking her head in dismay, "I'd never thought you could even hurt a mouse. You've always been a gentle, kind spirit." She exhales slowly, "You see the state of things from your actions, do you not? How many lives have been lost due to your ideas of folly?"

"I never made a deal with a demon. I never hurt anyone," she defends in a cracking voice. "Please do not kill me."


	40. Chapter 40

_"I never made a deal with a demon. I never hurt anyone. Please do not kill me."_

* * *

Jesus Christ, every one else is dead. One man's, or maybe woman's, body is completely torn to shreds. I _do not_ want to know _who_ did that, or _how_ they did that. All that's left is this poor woman kneeling in a pool of blood from that torn person's body, and looking completely scared out of her mind. The woman is begging for her fucking life while crying and bleeding out on her knees. When did things get so messed up? How did we get to this point? Yes, these people... were blood mages, they summoned spirits of ill intent that killed people and it's highly possible they themselves killed people, but does this violence truly equate so much violence in return? So much death? Here we're left with this woman, Nevarran by way of her German accent, pleading with us not to end her life simply for her choices and actions in wanting a better life for herself. She said she'd wanted to be free of the Templars. What have the Templars done to drive this woman on this path? Should we not be kicking the shit out of the Templars that did what ever horrible things to this woman, and probably other people, instead of standing around this mage debating the value of her life? She could be lying, she could be making all this shit up, but I'd bet good money I don't have that she isn't. If there's one thing I can recognize, it's a person in need of some honest to God help.

"Dammit," I curse under my breath and scramble towards the woman on the floor made slick by blood and crushed entrails that I'd rather not try to recognize. Her shoulder's bleeding so much, and I can't touch it skin-to-skin. She's a blood mage, might've not have made a deal with a demon, but I'm not taking any chances with the craziness my webbed reaver lines do. They react so strangely to blood magic and a blood mage's blood. I pull on my gloves to ensure their security, before crouching in front of her. She flinches away from me with a faint whine bubbling from her throat, and I feel my heart constrict at just how much fear is held in her expression and that pitiful sound. "It's okay," I try to reassure softly. "My name's Karie. I wanna help you."

She starts crying harder, "Please," she pleads in a watery voice, "I only want to _live_." Her face is blotched with dark spots and blood, her skin is far too pale to be healthy, her hair tied in a ponytail is a right mess, and one heavy gold earring is missing from her left ear. Looks like it was pulled clean through the lobe. I'm struck with an immediate ache in sympathy for her most devastating injury though. She's bleeding from the shoulder in thick rivets gushing through her splayed fingers desperately trying to staunch the flow. She was stabbed by something, by _someone_ , and she claims to have not even hurt anyone herself. Go figure.

"Uhm, Karie, perhaps you should..."

I don't even know who said that, but my head snaps up and I look up at those of my companions who've gathered around this woman to _watch_ her waste away, with answering tears welling in my eyes. Such debasing of human life, of _any_ life for that matter, disgusts me like nothing else. "How dare you - all of you. You're just watching this woman fucking bleed out, and you're not even _doing_ anything!" I growl low in my throat before slinging my now ever-present bag off of my shoulders, plopping it in the blood and gore of the floor, and fishing out the small vial of health potion I'd secured away when I'd had the opportunity to. I pluck the cork out of the thin glass before holding the reddish liquid out towards the woman. "Here, drink this," I try to say in a less harsh tone. She reaches out with her uninjured hand that's completely covered in watery red blood from her shoulder injury, and she clasps her long fingers around the small vial with a shaking hand. She's a blood mage, she could use this blood and the blood of her fallen comrades to heal herself, but she _doesn't_. She leaves her fate up to us, and I'm rightly pissed the hell off at everyone for not jumping at the chance to do what I'm fucking doing for her. While she's gulping down that harsh elfroot-based liquid like her life depended on it, which it probably does, I'm digging through my bag for my elfroot poultice. Wynne could heal this woman in the blink of an eye, but Wynne's not going to heal her. I don't even need to ask to know that. I'm fumbling to open the damned jar of the healing salve, but I'm just too worked up and my fingers keep sliding off the thick pottery. After the third failed attempt, there's suddenly hands cupped around mine and gently taking the jar away from me. I look over to see Leliana crouched in the gore of this room beside me looking sober and contrite.

"I shall help you, mon ami. If the Maker can hold mercy and forgiveness in his heart, then I can strive to do the same," she says by way of explanation before opening the jar of elfroot medicinal salve with ease. We treat the woman, Liana, with her thanking us so much and speaking so fast about nonsensical things that I'm actually smiling by the time we have her cleaned up as well as we can manage. I give her a hug afterwards. She's like an innocent, energetic puppy that just happened to make a few bad decisions that got her stuck in the dog house. A serious dog house full of some deep shit, but all the same, it actually seems Wynne was correct in her assessment of the woman - she's a gentle, kind spirit.

The woman hugs me back with a spirit-lifting enthusiasm and a tight vice of her arms, though weaker on her injured side. "I have decided, you are my newest bestest westest friend," she squeezes me. "Thank you best friend." I hug her back and try not to cry with my swelling, turbulent emotions and thoughts. Goddamn it, sometimes I just can't take this shit. I break away from her to stand on stiff legs and sling my bag onto my back. I look around and find Sloane at the back of the room, having entered it after me, with Randall looking none the worse for wear and sitting next to his master's booted feet. Sloane has his leather cap on his head, red hair poking out beneath it, and a rather unnatural look like he can't decide whether to look expectant or impassive. He's anticipating _something_ at least. I walk towards him while ignoring the variable looks from my companions, friend and not, and he meets me somewhere in the middle of my path.

"You don't even have to ask, dearest," he says when his expression seemingly settles on a look of acceptance. He brushes some of my wild dark hair back from my forehead before continuing, "She may join us," And now I'm hugging Sloane. That was more than I'd hoped for. I'd thought, that maybe, we could at least send her on her way towards Wynne's barrier. But for her to join us? She could be free, free like Jowan, or at least freer than most. She was driven to the point of blood magic to escape something she thinks is far worse than the dark, forbidden magics, and for that I couldn't bear to see anything short of a _chance_ at living for her.

"She can't stay here," I mumble into his armored shoulder.

"I know." He pauses a moment, "While you were tending to that woman," he starts as his breath is feathering across my ear with his head bent low, "I _knew_ you'd be stubborn and want us to look after her, and I mean that in the most endearing way possible. But... I cannot guarantee her safety. I'm unable think of a way for us to feasibly smuggle her past the Templars. She cannot change form into that of a mouse like our other mages can."

He's right, dammit. But, maybe... I look up towards him with my idea alighting my expression, "You can Conscript her. Wardens operate outside of Chantry jurisdiction. With the Right of Conscription, you could get her out of here."

"The life of a Warden is not an easy one," he says with something dark flickering through his eyes, "It's not for the faint of heart."

"But she _can't_ stay here Sloane," I repeat and take a breath. "Just ask her, at least. I think she's desperate enough that she'll take her chances as a Warden. Besides," I try to smile at him, "You and Alistair seem to be handling your... Wardeness well enough," I offer meekly.

"Oh, it's like Satinalia," he snorts. "Nightmares near on every night, feeling those Blasted darkspawn like cold needles along the skin, the shortened lifespan, and let's not forget the inability to sire children." He takes a deep breath with the lines on his face deeply severe at his distaste and barely hidden emotion. I knew it was difficult for him to learn of those things, but... I didn't think... I don't know. Maybe it was foolish to think he wouldn't react that way, or take the reality of his situation so harshly. God, he's usually so lighthearted, and I just forget... "But I will ask, as you say," he says solemnly and breaks me from my thoughts. I start slightly before I rub my hands along his back in an attempt to soothe what I can't change. "It's still a life, and better than death." We break apart after a breath, and I turn on my heels to watch him walk towards Liana before bowing towards her. "Milady mage, I ask for your audience a moment. I have something to discuss with you."

"Anything you speak with her of may be said in my presence as well, Commaner," Wynne interjects with her lips pulled thin.

"I think not," Sloane returns, "this is Warden business, Senior Enchanter, and private by extension. Alistair, if you will join us?" Leliana helps the mage to standing, and passes her weight to Alistair when he walks by. Together Sloane, Liana, and Alistair walk back towards the main entry room where Owain still is. And I'm left with the scrutiny of the vast majority of my companions. The unpleasant aura in the dark room is nearly palpable.

"Blood mage sympathizers are our only hope in escaping the Rite of Annulment, which is being enacted due to the actions of blood mages in the first place. The Maker truly has a sense of humor," Wynne mutters just loud enough for us all to hear.

"Some mages are pushed to blood magic because they feel they have no choice! They shouldn't be condemned due to the stigma put forth by those whose crimes are far worse than a desire for freedom!" Jowan defends heatedly with the light of his mage-light increasing with the intensity of his emotions.

"Freedom from what, exactly?" She spits back. "A life where food, clothes, medicine, and shelter are provided for freely where no mage has to work save for providing an education for others? Would you rather have plowed fields day-in and day-out for meager bits of coin, and have been lucky to have been taught how to read and write? Ignorance for the world beyond these walls is what has lead you on this path, Jowan, and it's ignorance that has caused all this destruction."

"It's not ignorant to want to live a life that you choose," I interject and defend my friend. "I was rescued from captivity, and I see little difference between slavery and _this_ ," I gesture to the room around me. It still sickens me to think I could've been made into a mindless killing machine for those damned cultists. They were so close to succeeding too. "You can treat a slave well - feed them, clothe them, and give them a room of their own, but at the end of the day they're still a slave. They still can't make their own choices for themselves."

"This is _not_ slavery," Wynne's starting to turn a little red in the face. "This is a system of education and protection for mages, and for those who may otherwise be harmed by an untrained mage. We have to learn how to harness our abilities, and here we do. We are safe here, and the world is safer with us here."

"How are we safe?" Jowan grounds out, "The Templars could kill us all with merely a word from one woman! We're hunted, abused, and feared! And all because the Chantry has this power over us!"

"He's right," I point at Jowan, "The Circles are inhumane!"

" _Enough_ , everyone," Sloane snaps wearily from a bit behind me and I nearly jump out of my skin at his unexpected interruption. Once the Warden has our collective attention he continues just a touch quieter, "There are more pressing matters that deserve our attention, so let us put this bickering aside. We still have to locate the First Enchanter so we may secure the Circle. Need I remind you, the _Blight_ is our priority."

"And I will be a Warden to help slay the Archdemon," Liana says in such a bright tone that it makes her earlier dismay seem like a distant thing. She's pretty much bouncing in place with excitement, and Alistair's staring at her like she's gone mad and lost her head. Maybe she is, maybe we all are, but either way Sloane's right and now I feel slightest bit ashamed at my outburst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone catch the earring reference? *cough* Zevran stabbed Liana *cough* I have in mind that Zev takes tokens from some of his opponents.


	41. Chapter 41

_"And I will be a Warden to help slay the Archdemon," Liana says..._

* * *

After a moment where we all seem to pause for a breath and assess the damages done, Wynne makes rounds healing those who ask. Sten, Jowan, Morrigan, Liana and I aren't healed by the senior enchanter. We all seem to have our reasons, rather willfully or not, with mine being that I was actually uninjured in this battle. Staying on the sidelines like Sloane had asked does keep me safe, but then again, I'm not there to help the others myself. I feel useless like this. I'm a liability more than anything.

"Chin up, best friend," Liana says glibly while sliding her uninjured arm about my shoulders in something that's a cross between a hug and using me as an armrest. Something about my expression must've set her off to my dismay. She had seemed happy enough quizzing Alistair on the order she's to join, while I brooded quietly and took inventory of the meager contents of my bag. "I had prayed to the Maker for change, and change has come. I am as sure as kittens are fuzzy that we will keep having good things come about so long as we stick with this Warden Commander." She smiles down at me with a wide, toothy grin before continuing, "He seems to have a light about him, no? Not a warm light, like you, and not as cuddly either," she squeezes me with enthusiasm at that, and I feel the air squish out of my lungs. Oh God, I'm _cuddly._ When did that happen? I don't think I've been called _that_ before. Well, regardless of the cuddliness I may or may not possess, I do think Liana's right. Sloane has continually brought about good things with nearly everything he's done or said. He's _the Warden_. I should put more faith in him, and the idea that he'll find a way to help me get over the unpredictable nature of my unnatural reaver lines. I keep seeming to have to remind myself of that, though he seems to be of the idea that we'll figure out a way for me to gain more control. In the end, all I can do is hope that he'll be right. And hopefully we'll get this settled sooner rather than later. I'd like to help him and the others, instead of just watching what I'd only thought was mere fiction not too long ago take shape before me... and try to kill me, as surreal as that sounds.

Back home I had lived a comfortable vanilla life where facing one's mortality on a daily basis was never heard of, at least for me. I had my share of frightening experiences though, but nothing compared to the severity of life-or-death in this place. I didn't drink or smoke when I was a teenager. I didn't really party in any way other than people-watching and partaking in either poker or drinking games. I had lived in an area where crime and gangs went hand-in-hand, but I had never participated in such things and I made sure to maintain a distance with those who did. I kept my head low, I learned how to blend into a crowd, and once I'd learned this pretty much the greatest risk to my life was getting hit by a car. That's not to say I'd avoided violence and bad things entirely - I'd had my share of fights, I regularly trespassed on people's property, I vandalized, I stole. I'd started my offenses at a young age too with the first I remember when I'd trespassed on a random person's property to climb atop their garage to draw with chalk on the tar of their roof by myself, I was five. My father was at work for long days, and my mother was too busy with newborn twins to keep an eye on me. I never hurt anyone, and I was never caught. There were worse offenses occurring on the streets that people could ignore a girl wandering into their yard and climbing up their singular tree to watch the clouds pass by. When I was fortunate enough to move to the suburbs and out of the inner-city, risk for myself was near to null. Yet here I find myself in the ultimate of dangerous situations, and I only need to control myself to be able to do something about it. Liana's right about Sloane. I need to trust that someone can help me other than myself with this, and I especially need to be able to trust the man I'm _involved_ with.

I slide my arm along her bony shoulder blades and try to smile towards her through the shadows of my thoughts and memories, "I think you're right."

"Well that's a right sweety treat because your views on certain things seem rather skewed, lady Karie," Amell interrupts our little BFF-bonding moment with those words and a scowl heavily etched on his face beneath his thick facial hair. He walks towards us a little stiffly in his annoyance with his robes billowing around his slight frame, and he stops just before us before continuing. "For someone not of the Circle or the magi-variety you appear to have your mind firmly made up about our home here."

"The Warden Commander said we should not-" Liana begins softly, but Amell interrupts her with a sharp tap of his lit staff on the stone floor and a half-hearted glare in my direction. It's not scary in the least. The guy comes off more adorable than pissed off like that, like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum. I want him to understand where I'm coming from though, but I don't want to offend or disrespect him in any way. I know well enough that thoughts about his acting like a kid should be kept to myself.

"I was only defending my friend," I start slowly before pausing a moment to think about what to say to him. "I have an... intimate amount of knowledge on how the Dalish go about the training and treatment of mages, and the way the Chantry goes about training you is just..." I take a short breath and exhale slowly through my nose while I try my best not to come across as offensive, "it-it's shocking."

"What's this about the Dalish?" He tilts his head at that, "you're not an elf. I'd thought the nomadic elves were rather secretive and unfriendly towards we humans."

"Aereweld taught me everything she knew," tears threaten to spring unbidden to my eyes at the mere mention of the Dalish elf who'd left her legacy to me. If all mages were trained and raised in the way of the Dalish, I could only image that things would be very different here. "Mages are raised to be leaders in the Dalish. They are expected to protect, heal, and guide their people. They are soldiers and saviors. They are honored. No Dalish fears a mage."

His cheeks puff up a bit with his rising indignation before he speaks next in a tone accustomed to lecture. "We do all of those things here. Maybe not the leadership bit, but there's a reason for it. Given what has happened in our history, we have to be careful with our role in society. We heal people. We travel in times of need at the king's behest to fight with soldiers and protect people in times of war. If people fear us, it's because they fear the stories of us, and not us individually. What's happened here," he gestures with a hand in a sweep of the battered room we're in, "was a mistake made by a few people. Just because this happened, it doesn't mean the Circles aren't the best place for us. The Circle can't be infallible, no order is, but it works for our society. We're not the Dalish, and you cannot say their system is the best for people who live so differently than they do."

"Maybe," I say with a shrug while trying to stay neutral. I don't want to start another argument over something that I can't do anything about, no matter how I feel. "We're getting ready to leave, and I'm done talking about this," I mumble with my accent becoming more pronounced while I try to keep myself in check. I see a fluttering look of confusion cross Amell's face at my near total elimination of all the 'g's in that sentence while I'd said it. I ignore any further attempts at conversation while I bend my knees a little and slide out from the semi-circle of Liana's arm. I then quickly turn about and walk off in Sloane's direction. It might be a little rude to both of them to leave like that, but I can't let myself get swept up in anymore pointless arguments about the Circle. My views on the matter are meaningless here.

"I couldn't help but to overhear that conversation, dearest," Sloane comments to me when I walk towards him. His face is partially hidden in shadow, and so I can't gauge his thoughts all too well, but his tone doesn't sound angry in the least. Thankfully. Is it bad that I hate it when I disappoint him? He just has that look about him down pat. "Also," and I hear the shift in his tone to something a touch more playful with a drawl of that word, "I'd seen something of interest with your interaction with that mage woman," and I see the twinkle of his hazel eyes through the shadows obscuring his expression. "It appears you have an admirer, Karie. Should I be jealous?" I watch as his white teeth flash in the darkness with his smile.

I feel my face warm with a slight embarrassed flush while I try to rationalize the blood mage cuddling me. "She's just excited about being a Warden, and, well, not dying," I blurt rather quickly when something decent comes to mind.

"Oh, you're just trying to whisk away a bit of the attention from me. I see how it is, love. No need to defend it," he laments dramatically. "I can cope."

I push on one of his armored shoulders a bit in building embarrassment, and mutter a flustered, "Shut up," to which he chuckles lightly at before gracing my brow with his lips in a warm and calming gesture that certainly does the trick.

"I've finished healing, Commander," Wynne announces loudly a few paces away when Sloane pulls back from me. He turns a little bit more away from me and further into the mage-light, and nods once at the senior enchanter in acknowledgement.

"Let's move forward everyone. Be on your guard," he advises our group before leaning towards me again and continuing a touch quieter, "Keep an eye on your admirer, Karie. She's still injured after all." There's an undertone to his words while he said that, and it's one that makes me wonder if he's suspicious of something in regards to Liana... Wait. I think I get it. His request isn't really for me to look after her since she's still hurt. He doesn't trust her. Despite the fact that he's Conscripted her, he wants her watched even after everything she's said and done. He's being cautious whereas I'd gone and accepted her as a friend in a heartbeat without knowing her, not even from the game.

I wander back towards Liana eventually, who is now joined by Jowan and Leliana. It looks like Jowan's left the navigating up to Amell and Wynne, who's now further ahead in the group. Probably since she doesn't want to be in the company of maleficar and blood mage sympathizers. My lips twist cruelly at that stray little thought before I notice Jowan scrubbing a hand through his inky hair with a troubled look on his face, and then I wonder at what he must be thinking.

"We're in the hall for the Harrowed and Tranquil quarters," Jowan mutters while gesturing to the battered doors we're passing in the glow of his orange mage-light and Liana's yellow before falling back to silence. Things are eerily quiet here, and the emptiness of this place intermixed with the dark magic ever alighting along my skin makes an uneasiness well in the pit of my stomach, again. I would love nothing more than to be done encountering places full of ill spirits and tears in the Beyond's fabric. There's a good reason the realms of this place are separate.

"You need not fear for the Tranquil," Liana says after we pass more broken or burnt doors and puddles of drying blood reflecting off of our dim light sources. Where are the bodies? How come we haven't seen any injured people, people who need help, people who are still alive? "The demons cannot use Tranquil for hosts. They are useless to them."

"Maleificar have used Tranquil mage blood to feed their spells," an unknown softly spoken voice says off to the side of Jowan in a rather dull monotone. "There have been many of us slain for such purposes."

"Maker, no," Jowan gasps, and when I turn towards him I see the guy standing impossibly still in front of an opened doorway with his knuckles white around his now brightly lit staff. I stretch to look around his shoulder on my tiptoes, and I see a petite elven woman with white-blond hair tied in a tight bun and a few stray hairs framing an angry red sunburst branded into her forehead. Another Tranquil mage.

"Jowan?" I call out concerned towards my friend with my eyes lingering on what I can see of the profile of his face. Who is this person to get such a reaction out of him? When he doesn't answer, I choose a more direct approach and I reach out towards him to lightly grasp his heavily robbed shoulder in growing worry. "Jowan? What's wrong? Who's this?"

"I am the Tranquil-mage Anina Surana." The elven woman turns her deaden eyes towards me, and her expression is just so off, so wrong. The entire set of her face is an emotionless mask with her eyes glossy and unfocused like that of a terminally ill person. That look alone makes me wary to even be in her presence. Jesus, but she'd said she was Surana. Surana... Surana's Tranquil? How did... how did that happen? Unless... I look towards Jowan's face completely washed of color and the absolute horror held in his widened eyes, and it just clicks. He'd mentioned her in passing before. She must've been the one he went to for help to escape this place with Lily. And without Duncan here to prevent her punishment like in the game, she was made Tranquil. Dear lord. The Templars would take away all that a person is just because they tried to help a blood mage escape with the person they loved? I don't know who this woman was before, but it had to have been someone completely different. She had to have been someone that would knowingly put themselves at such risk for a friend, and be completely, unselfishly, willing to do so. Someone who's Tranquility would cause such extreme grief to wrap around Jowan like a smothering cloak. He's muttering what I've come to recognize as the Chant of Light under his breath while he stares at this woman unblinkingly in utter disbelief.

"I'm so sorry," he says after a moment in a breaking voice while he reaches out with one hand towards this woman. His hand hovers just before her, stopping just short of actually touching her before he continues. "If I had known, I'd-"

"Not have left our friend to take punishment for your Void-blasted actions?" Amell steps towards us with a sad huff of his breath. "The First Enchanter tried to stop it," he tells him in a gentle tone, though Jowan doesn't openly knowledge the other man's presence, "They wouldn't send an un-Harrowed apprentice to the mage's prison. And you know how she's been sneaking about after curfew to visit her lover? They thought she was practicing dark magics under the cover of night. They thought she was a blood mage like you, and they used that against her in their ruling."

"Maker have mercy," Jowan swipes a hand over his eyes and I think I see the glimmer of tears in the ethereal glow of his light. "I'd never met for any of this to happen," he confesses in a broken tone before finally looking towards Amell with the weight of his actions bending his taller frame and causing pain to crease his face. "We were supposed to escape together - me, Lily and Anina. She'd broken her phylactery when we found it, and then we broke mine. She even set fire to them both. I- she said... she said she just wanted go home, Ren. That's all she wanted. She doesn't deserve this for wanting to see her parents."

"That's not for either of us to decide," Amell says wearily as if he's been trying to convince himself of this very same fact. "She was a risk to herself and others for doing what she'd did. In the end, her punishment was just."

"How can you possibly say something like that?" Jowan raises his voice angrily. "You were her friend too!"

"By the Maker's smelly socks, I _am_ her friend!" Amell retorts just as passionately. "While you ran off to leave your lover and best friend to pay for your crimes, I was _here_ petitioning for leniency. I _stayed_ by her side and I tried to fix the mess you'd created! You're lucky they both weren't hanged! That was on the table, did you know that? At least they're both still alive!"

"Tell me how she's alive!" Jowan points at the expressionless elven woman. "I'd rather die than face Tranquility!"

"I would as well," Liana interjects. "This woman wanted to live with her parents, and for _trying_ to do something so innocent, she was made Tranquil. And I want freedom," Liana lays a hand against her chest while breathing heavily with a swell of emotion, "I had nearly died simply to see the world beyond these walls. And I would still rather have that fate if given the choice of Tranquility. Death is a far greater mercy than living without a soul."

"I know in my heart that the Chantry would never allow an unwarranted Rite of Tranquility to be performed," Leliana says quietly in a soothing tone while she tries to smother the flames of yet another argument. "The cause for such a ruling must have been of great concern in order to receive it. Now let us not dwell on what her fate should have been, and instead let us try to find a way to help her now, no?"

I nod along with the former Lay Sister before adding, "Maybe we can give her directions to the barrier so she can stay safe?"

"Senior Enchanter Thekla has purged this area of demonic influences," the Tranquil Surana informs us. "The area affected by his efforts is now safer than most. Many areas of the Circle were known to be corrupted before communication with the Templar Order was severed. My findings indicate that this particular area produces a higher rate of survival overall."

"Where is this Senior Enchanter Thekla?" Leliana asks.

"His last known location was the Chapel," the Tranquil mage replies with a slow blink of her dark eyes and that creepy-as-hell drawl of her voice. Well, I can hazard a guess as to where we're going.


	42. Chapter 42

_"His last known location was the Chapel..."_

* * *

I look to the others and watch as the heat of argument leaves their expressions to be replaced with guarded looks, or perhaps something a bit more pensive at the change in conversation. I glance around a moment and notice that our little group has broken off from the rest of our companions, and we're alone in this ruined area reserved for the Tranquil mages' quarters.

"I'll go find Sloane," I offer quietly with concern coloring my voice in the wake of what had been said due to our discovery of this woman, Anina Surana. This is absolutely surreal, and that's not the first time I've had a similar thought in so many minutes.

Leliana shakes her head at me with her blue eyes bright in the darkness, "That is not wise, mon ami. Even if the demons have been cleared from this area, there are still blood mages about. It would be safest for us all to travel together." She waves one gloved hand out to gesture to the hall, "The others cannot be too far away."

I loose a short breath and agree with a bit of reluctance. I was hoping to give Jowan more time to collect himself since he still looks quite troubled though. He's been stealing glances at Surana and has his mouth just the slightest bit open as if he'd intended to say something more, but the words would just not come. Pangs of despair still wrack his body as he fidgets in indecision, and I can't help but to feel for him. To see her like this, well, it must be nothing short of unbearable. Together, with the Tranquil mage in tow, we skirt around a bend in the hall to find the others of our party standing in a room torn to shambles with two mages' bodies laying in shimmering pools of blood beside a creature imbued with dark magic that I've come to recognize as an abomination in true form. The mages' life essences are still pooling from devastating gashes in their bodies, and so I assume they haven't been dead for too long. God, but I think I'm becoming immune to such sights. If I'd seen something even half as similar back home I have no illusions against the fact that I'd have been frozen with fear and turned into an utter mess. I'm afraid of what more I could become accustomed to witnessing here if horribly mutilated corpses and twisted, malevolent creatures born of nightmares are starting to become a regular thing to encounter.

"Believe it or not, but I've never seen one in person before today," I look up at Alistair a few paces before me to see his face gaunt with queasiness and unease beneath his helm. "Disgusting creatures, aren't they?" he asks while looking towards me.

"Abominations?" I question without really needing to. I know what he's talking about. "I've seen some," there were a few far worse disturbing manipulations of the human and elven form held in the darkest parts of Aereweld's memories. Not that I think of them, but I know they're there all the same. "Connor was one too," I blurt carelessly and immediately wince at my lack of mindfulness once the words have left my lips.

His sickly look quickly turns into a frown at my expense. I open my mouth to apologize to my friend, but Sloane calls to me from across the room then, "Karie?" His face crinkles with his questioning tone and a bit of confusion clouding his features. "Who do you have in your company?"

"That young woman is the Tranquil Anina," Wynne answers for me with her voice a little more flat than normal. "She was an elementalist at one time, and an apt student whose studious nature has remained with her." The very corners of Wynne's thin lips lift when she looks towards the Tranquil woman with even a touch of warmth entering her words, "I am glad to see you unharmed dear."

"My continued survival is due in part to the actions of Senior Enchater Karl," elven woman informs her in that unnerving drawl of her quite femininely pitched voice.

Wynne's expression shifts yet again just as seamlessly as Morrigan can change form from beast to woman, and it's just as unnatural looking, "Do you know where he is?" she says now with surprise.

"The Chapel, Senior Enchanter," Amell interrupts with his lithe form visibly shaking in tension, "By the Maker's jiggly butt-cheeks, I do hope he's well." Jowan reaches out to his friend with a measure of hesitance and lays on hand on his smaller shoulder in an effort to comfort. All these people know each other - they lived every waking moment in their company in a microcosm full of magic and invisible chains forged by the Chantry. I can only imagine how difficult this must be for all of them. How must it feel to see everything you've ever known, and every person you've ever met, destroyed by swaths of supernatural and corrupt creatures and energies that are unfathomable to most? I was taken from my home by force, I don't know the feeling, but I can imagine. I can see the physical manifestations of those emotions playing in every fiber of the mages' bodies, and it makes me ache for them. A part of me even holds the smallest amount of sympathy for Wynne. She's someone many people looked to for protection and healing, but she just can't save them all. I know that feeling of uselessness, of having no control over the madness surrounding you, quite well.

I'd dazed off into my own thoughts for a moment and only notice we're leaving this room clogged with death when Morrigan brushes past me and jars me by the shoulder on her way. Damned that woman. She's so full of herself, her own fucked up agenda, that she can't even _pretend_ to be the slightest concerned for the people's she's _helping_. We'd had the smallest bit of repertoire before as the healers of the group, but now that Sloane's chosen me, as if his affections are part of some game to be won or lost, she's marked me off as an enemy of sorts. Bitch can shove it where the sun don't shine. She needs to get over herself. I'm startled from silently glaring at the shape-shifter's back when someone takes one of my hands and places a kiss that I can just feel beneath the thick leather adoring the back of it - it's Sloane. I shouldn't have been surprised, but I'm jumpy, especially now in this place that continually disturbs the dark magic lacing my flesh.

"Are you with me, love?" he asks me in soft tones while I take a moment to assure myself of, well, myself. I'm occasionally impulsive and sometimes do things without really knowing why, but... I'm sure now. I'm pretty sure I'm certain, as a matter of fact. Sloane's not a mistake, _this_ isn't a mistake - I was meant to be here. God, Morrigan's mere presence rattles me too much. I question things too much, and I really should stop. There's more important things going on here, and much more is at stake.

"Yep," I answer back simply while squeezing his hand in reassurance. "That woman," I take a step closer to him and lower my voice while glancing in the Tranquil elf's direction, "she helped Jowan escape here, and they made her Tranquil because of it." I search his eyes for understanding, and I think I find a bit of it eventually. He understands I'm concerned for my friend, I hope.

"I don't pretend to understand magic, or Tranquility for that matter," he tells me honestly, "but I can see you're unnerved, love. Tell me what it is you wish for me to do." There's an earnestness in his expression due to his care for me that threatens to break my heart. How did we get here? How did we fall so quickly? How come I let myself fall? Dammit, there I go questioning shit I can only make guesses to again when I'd just promised myself not to. I have to be sure of myself, don't I? But even so I can't help but to feel out of my depth, for more than one reason.

"I don't deserve you," I say without warning, and I quickly advert my eyes from his face in timidity. I clear my throat and feel my fingers twitch subconsciously against his hand where we are still holding on to each other, "I-," I start and have to stop in that same breath. He hasn't said anything. Why hasn't he said something? "I just want us to save as many people as we can," I use his oft said words when I draw a blank on how to explain what it is I want exactly, and I also use his words to distance myself from my own, "I wanna make sure she's safe. She's defenseless. Tranquil mages can't use magic." I then dare to take a glance at his face, even if I can only raise my eyes as high as his dimpled chin. Sometimes I'm a fucking coward.

"We'll watch after her then," I hear him say before I feel his bare fingers tracing the edge of my jaw. That barely-there contact is enough for goose flesh to pucker my skin, and then so suddenly a blur of ruddy hair and golden eyes invade my vision when he presses his lips against mine in just as light of a touch. When he pulls his face away he speaks soft enough for only me to hear, "We may discuss who deserves whom at a later time, Karie. For now, let's find this other senior enchanter and keep ourselves moving forward." He laces his fingers with mine while rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb, "Shall we?"

I follow Sloane and the others quietly while I'm engrossed in thought. He's so affectionate and understanding, just like that. I've made him no promises, other than trying to stay outside of battle, but even so... the thing's he's said, the things he's done for me with hardly any reason to... It's hardly been more than a couple days. How...? Can what's happened with us be accounted to cultural differences? Perhaps circumstance? I don't know... I want to be okay with it all, be completely willing to let go of my reservations, but a small part of me is holding me back. Shit. There's the Circle, Karie, the Circle and the Blight - focus on the big-picture here. And how can I not? The closer we travel towards this Chapel, the more destruction we see all around us. We've come across those bodies that were missing from that mess before, or at least parts of them, and it sickens me like nothing else.

There's a purple shimmering wall of magic sealing off the entrance to the Chapel when we finally come across it, and I recognize it as the same magic Wynne had used near to the entrance of the Circle to protect the children there. Wynne alights her staff against the surface of it while muttering an incantation in Tevene, or Latin as I know it, while taking several backwards steps from the doorway. The barrier turns translucent for a moment, and when it clears enough we can see a middle-aged man on the other side holding his ornate steel staff in front of his body protectively. There's others there with him, I can hear their whimpers of fear now.

"Karl," Wynne calls out towards the man while the mage-light atop her staff brightens, "I'm in the company of Grey Wardens - we've come in search of you."

"Thank the Maker, Wynne," he says loudly while walking towards his barrier until he's passed completely through the permeable surface. The man is somewhat burly with a careworn expression... wait... he seems familiar to me for some reason - and he just hugged Wynne. I know I'm probably blinking stupidly at the sight, but I didn't take Wynne for a huger. The strangeness of it takes my attention completely, but it seems I was right in that Wynne's not a huger, she doesn't return the gesture. This is the senior enchanter then?


	43. Chapter 43

_This is the senior enchanter then?_

* * *

The senior enchanter, Karl, breaks away from Wynne with a slight smile beneath his thick salt and pepper beard. "Come then," he waves to the rest of us over Wynne's shoulder in a motion beckoning us closer, "inside the Chapel. We can talk safely there."

Alistair and Sloane share a look and a shrug, and moments later we're passing through another magical barrier that tingles along my skin and makes unwelcome sensations flicker through me due to the blood magic in me. I grace the shimmering purple with a glance over my shoulder once I'm inside the Chapel. We have to go back out that way. Not looking forward to that all too much. Sloane spares me a concerned look complete with a furrow of his brow before Wynne begrudgingly makes the introductions at the other senior enchanter's prompting.

"You'd said you travel in the company of Grey Wardens?" He flicks his grey eyes in our direction while Wynne nods and gestures to Sloane. I'm sure we look quite the sight to these people, especially since they don't interact outside their world all too often.

"Yes. This is their Commander, Sloane of -" she breaks off in a slight questioning tone while Sloane steps forward with one fisted hand laying across his chest and a short dip of his head.

"Denerim, milady," he comes to stand in the semi-circle made by the two taller senior enchanters in a couple short steps.

The older man extends his arm in Sloane's direction and they clasp each other by the forearms while the senior enchanter introduces himself formally, "Senior Enchanter Karl Thekla, Spirit Healer and dabbler in elemental and primal magics."

"Well met," Sloane says politely while releasing his arm and taking a look around the Chapel, and I feel myself doing the same. Injured are lying in the pews covered in God know what with others not much better off tending to them. I notice a woman in a far corner huddled in on herself and sobbing into the thick purple of her robes with several bodies laying in neat rows wrapped in stained curtains nearby. Candle light and mage-light illuminates the room erratically giving the whole place an even more dilapidated look. My gaze flickers back to the three before us once Sloane speaks again, and I curl my arms around my middle while my mind runs rampant drowning out the words being said. These poor people. There were a few mages outside the Circle's doors with the Templars, mostly children and a few young adults behind Wynne's barrier, and several mages of all ages here. A couple pockets of people still unharmed... are these all that are left? It can't be, can it? These are all well trained people with superhuman abilities, who I'm sure had to be taught to resist demonic influences and dark magics in general, right? Then again, that's easier said than done. I'd nearly become victim to the ill spirit of desire's games back in Redcliffe, and I'd had the knowledge of an expert elvhen mage to fall back on. Everyone gives in to temptation. I'd heard that before, and it seems to have some truth.

" _Maleficar_!" My head snaps towards the source of that word being shrieked to see that crying woman in purple I'd noticed moments ago standing and pointing with a shaking arm in our group's direction. I don't know who she's pointing at though. I look behind me to see Jowan and Liana standing near each other looking back at the woman with stricken expressions while she yells that accusatory word over and over again in a mantra laced with grief.

"Excuse me," Senior Enchanter Karl mutters before quickly going to that woman. I see him wrap his hands around her shoulders while speaking to her in hushed tones that I can barely make out as words beneath her screaming. She quiets eventually with us all looking on, and the senior enchanter hands her off to a young elven woman in similar robes. He makes his way back towards our group with a troubled expression while he runs one hand through his greying hair. "I apologize Grey Wardens," he says quietly once he's near. "I understand you have blood mages in your party, and I do not judge you for your choices, but others won't see anything but a disciple of evil no matter with whom they ally." He shakes his head before motioning towards a shorter ginger-haired young man, "Finn, gather what supplies we can spare for the Wardens here - a few vials of lyrium, a health potion or two, some clean bandages, and any useful runic items you can find." The man mumbles a "yessir," before scurrying off to do just that. The senior enchanter looks back towards us with the weight of the responsibility he has weighing visibly down on him. "I thank you for returning Anina to us," he speaks of the elven woman near to the back of our group without the title of 'Tranquil' as everyone else seems to regard her. It seems to most she's Tranquil first and herself last, "and hopefully what Finn can find will be of enough aid in your task. I am sorry that I cannot join you, but I am needed here."

"Any assistance is assistance enough," Sloane says to him with gratitude in his words, "The state of things appears to be worsening the further we go."

The senior enchanter shakes his head again, "Uldred has hold himself and his army of abominations up in the top levels," he tells us. "All the Templars that have gone that way have not returned, and the mages who were there before the attack..." he trails off a bit for a moment with his eyes unfocused and looking into the distance. "I have not heard of them since," he says at last. He frowns a bit before shifting his weight and continuing, "The First Enchanter's office is just down the hall," he gestures with one hand in what I assume is the office's direction, "Irving keeps a personal stock of supplies in a chest there, and a few confiscated weapons in another chest with other paraphernalia. Greagoir kept the more... destructive things, however, but I'm sure you could find a few items useful." He scrubs his hand through his short hair again, "We had gathered what we could once we were cut off from the others, but without a key we could not get past the crates' enchantments to gain access in our hurry. You will need to nullify the charms before picking the locks, or breaking them off."

"I'm sure we can find a way," Wynne says after a breath. "Thank you Karl," she touches his forearm briefly in a rare show of affection for her fellow senior enchanter, "for everything you've done."

"No thanks until we're all safe," he says while he takes her hand and squeezes it companionably, though Wynne doesn't return his kindness this time.

"Here," the ginger-haired man comes up to our group sliding on the stone floor and is clearly out of breath while holding a wrapped bundle in his gangly arms, "I have all that I could find."

Senior Enchanter Karl plucks the bundle from his arms while looking through it with searching fingers, and after a moment a frown down-turns his lips. "I'd thought we had more enchanted items than this - rings, charms, tokens..."

The younger man fidgets a bit in place, "Most are contaminated with blood magic, Senior Enchanter."

"We'll take them," Sloane interjects while straightening himself and looking up at the taller humans, "We have three in our party who can handle blood magic without harm."

Which is how I got this bizarre ring on my thumb. I'm twisting the silver of it around and around with the glove of that hand tucked into my belt. I look at the band with only being able to barely piece together the Tevene inscribed on the metal surface due to Aereweld's knowledge of the northern humans who had once lived throughout Thedas. The dwarven characters on the surface of it, well, I couldn't even guess as to their meaning. That barrier didn't feel quite so... disturbing on our way out of the Chapel with this ring on my thumb. One of the blocky, tiny phrases on it's surface looks like the word 'fortitude,' so that must have something to do with it. There's also 'life' etched into its surface. Being in possession of something enchanted should be better than not, but there is blood magic swirling along the metal surface in inky dark lines that seem to move as if caught in a rippling tide. I can _feel_ it through the tendrils of blood magic in my skin at my thumb and beyond. The sensation is not entirely unpleasant, but foreign. I'm not quite sure what to make of it.

We had left the Chapel with few more possessions than we had, and had in turn hopefully given those poor mages a little more faith that things will turn out. It is possible to defeat Uldred, I know it is, but they don't. I look up at Sloane's back ahead of me as he pushes the door to the First Enchanter's office open in this darkened hall that seems less damaged than most, and I remind myself of the faith I have in his abilities as our leader. Things haven't meshed up with what I remember of the game exactly, but he has still led us through all the shit we seem to find successfully. That has to count for something. Those people back there listened to him, respected him, and trusted him. We all do.

"May I have some light?" he asks over his shoulder, "We should make haste."

Liana rushes forward to do just that while we quickly file through the largely intact door-frame and into the spacious office. The highly set windows are draped with heavy fabric, and the office-space itself is in a small state of disorder. Papers are strewn about and chairs are toppled over, but the two very large wooden chests along the back wall of the room are still whole and undisturbed. Wynne bends before the chests and runs her fingers along one of the iron locks in her softly glowing mage-light with a barely audible chuckle bubbling out of her throat.

"Irving, you old goat," she mutters mostly to herself with a note of fondness before her fingers brighten in a pale purple light which causes the whole chest to flash purple for a moment. She stands carefully before turning towards us while motioning at the chest. "The lock may be opened now, I will nullify the other." I watch as Zevran sets himself on picking the first lock and Leliana gets to work on the second. Sten and Alistair had charged themselves with the task of watching our backs at the room's entrance, so the rest of us set ourselves on gathering anything useful from the room, including the chests.

"Mon ami," Leliana calls towards me while I'm riffling through a desk drawer with nothing but papers and spare quills in it. "Here," she holds a short dagger still in its scabbard out in my direction in one fingerless-gloved hand. "You do not have a weapon for your off-hand," she explains while still holding the blade in my direction. I take a few steps towards her before taking the weapon in-hand carefully. When I hesitate on what to do with it exactly, since Aereweld did not weild a dagger in her non-dominant hand, she gestures to her wide leather belt where her two scabbards lay for her twin blades. "Slide it onto your belt opposite your sword," she suggests. "I know you to be avoiding battle," she continues with her brows drawn down, "but you should arm yourself properly all the same. There is much to be cautious of in this tower," she says while peering into the shadows that never seem to quite go away in the mage-light. That is... more than true. Having a dagger would be better than not, but I still fumble to put the thing on my own belt. I hope I won't need it, I hope to just give advice and stay out of things like Sloane cautions me to, but it's just so... terrible here. These people are innocent, a fair few of these mages are children, and what's going on here is nothing short of horrible. I take a moment to think about what I exactly remember happens here. I remember being frustrated when I came to this part in the game at first. There were just _so_ many walking skeletons and other enemies, that it had seemed to be nearly endless. It's like what happened at Redcliffe, only doubled, at least.

I frown at those thoughts and turn to look around the room with Leliana. I spy Zevran, of all people, helping Liana to wrap her shoulder in clean linen with her pale face bright red in the colored light from her staff and the glossiness of a drunk health potion staining her thin lips. Wynne is searching through a stack of books before her while stealing glances at where Jowan and Amell seem to be having a whispered discussion of some sort nearby. Morrigan is scowling at Randall in a corner of the room, where the mabari has his big nose pressed to the tops of her boots for some inexplicable reason. Sloane stands from the chest beside where Leliana and I are while slinging his large pack onto his back, and our eyes meet for the briefest of moments before he speaks. "Do you know what's in store for us next, dearest?"

"The next floor," I say while blinking up at him. "There's more... bad things there than before. Skeletons. Spirits." I purse my lips together. "I don't remember everything that happens," I admit quietly. "But there's some powerful spirits here." I rub my hands along my arms briefly and concentrate on the sluggish feeling that I've come to associate with fluxes in Beyond-fed power. "Sometimes I can feel them."

His expression turns a little troubled while he says without really needing to, "Please say if you sense them, love." He breathes out slowly, "We still have several floors to travel before we can confront this Uldred fellow," and there's an iciness that passes through his gaze so quick, but it's still enough to make me feel the slightest bit sorry for whoever, or whatever, crosses his path with his blades in his hands next.


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter is rated M for explicit violence and gore.**

When we'd left Irving's office, the set of stairs to the next floor weren't too far away and we'd made good time without incident. I'd only wished the same could be said for the stairwell itself. Everyone was either preoccupied with the items they'd found or were given, or their personal shit, and so we weren't all too mindful of our surroundings. Not until I'd felt a sharpness seep into the blood magic lacing my flesh in rapid, short bursts that caused my nausea to return full force with the _wrongness_ of the feeling.

"Sloane.. Spirits," I whisper under my breath in a tone nearly disbelieving to the vast number of the vile creatures I'm feeling bleeding into the spaces all around us. I look up to Sloane beside me in the dimly-lit space with nothing but slick stone surrounding us on all sides and enclosing in on us in a way that makes me think of a mausoleum... a tomb. Our tomb. "Spirits!" I shout at the top of my lungs with the fear of us dying in this place lashing through me stronger than any of the foreign sensations I've been feeling.

"Blasted damnation!" I hear Jowan curse with his colored mage-light increasing in intensity, "I can feel them too!"

Liana bounds up to the front of our line with white fear painted on her features, "There is a tear! Snickerdoodles and kittens! There must be a powerful mage nearby to call on so many demons."

"-too many. There's too many. There's too many," I just realize I'm saying that simple sentence over and over again when I feel Sloane lay a heavy hand on my shoulder to draw me back to the here and now. This tower is worse than the entire village of Redcliffe. Oh _so_ much worse.

"Are they coming for us?" Sloane asks in a solemn yet hard tone in the direction of, well, everyone.

I impulsively take a breath, hold it to steady myself, and close my eyes while I exhale slowly and focus on the bizarre shit I'm feeling crawling around on the tendrils of my skin. The pulses of sensation feel like they're stronger in one direction than not, though they're still there. "They're not coming our way - they're going somewhere," I breathe while opening my eyes and trying to get a handle on myself and quit freaking the hell out. We're okay. It's okay. "It feels like they're goin'..." I trail off and give it a moment's thought more, "up."

"There must be a stronghold on the next floor," Wynne interjects with a dark look on her aged features. "We _must_ make our way through it if we're to have any chance at stopping this madness."

"We will," Sloane says while the lines of his face stretch and harden with the harshness of his words. "This is but a fraction of the trials we will endure to secure this place, and a mere piece of what we will yet brave in order to put this Blight to rest. Of this I am certain - we will end this. We will end this all. Have faith brothers and sisters." He takes his two daggers in hand and the metal of them reflects in the darkness. "Mage Jowan, Recruit Liana, and Warden Alistair - you will lead our charge. Use your Templar abilities to our advantage, and use your blood magic to protect us. Leliana and the Enchanters - take the rear and keep your distance. We will maintain a tight formation, and we will expect to be attacked from all sides. Take nothing to chance." He raises one gleaming dagger with a fierceness about his entire being, a ferocity that both spurs me onward and makes me feel cold to see his expression, before rallying, "To arms!"

I can't help but to ask on my part in this while we're charging up the remaining stairs bolstered by his words and a collective determination. I tug on the leather of the armor encasing Sloane's elbow and ask just loud enough to be heard, "What about me?" He doesn't want me to fight, but it sure as hell seems that little part is being neglected. We're charging into a horde, and that's just as insane as it sounds, but we haven't much of a choice here.

Something passes through his golden gaze after I'd asked that question and his features soften for a moment. "Protect yourself," he concedes with a bowed head as if just allowing that much causes him physical pain, "Don't put yourself in needless danger though, love, please."

"I won't," I whisper and plead to him with a tightening of my hand on his elbow, "Same goes for you." He nods his head only once before Alistair barrels through the wooden door to the next floor. I see a white smoke arc out all around Alistair when he plunges his sword into the ground, and there's a lot of groaning and cursing not just from the enemy, but our own companions too.

"Your nullification affected we mages as well, you dim-witted fool!" Morrigan all but growls from somewhere behind me, "How are we to be of any use without our magic?!"

"I'm sorry, I-" Alistair's cut off mid-sentence once we're all out onto this floor's antechamber from the staircase when a blue-lighted magical aura whiplashes through our tightly-grouped lot with a sound as harsh as a tree being struck by lightning. I watch the blue magic stick to my skin and rock-adorned armor before a tingling sensation starts out everywhere, on every last inch of my skin, all at once with the shock of being zapped by electricity. The sensation is all along my body, but feels concentrated at the runic ring still sitting at my thumb as though that ring is giving whatever this sensation is a little more power. I gasp out a startled breath before falling into a heap on the floor. I look up and behind me once I'm able to pick myself up enough, and I see that everyone - Sloane, Alistair, Jowan, and all the rest - are frozen immobile to the spot with that blue magic wrapped tightly around them from head to toe. They've been paralyzed by magic.

There's a manic laugh, a sound dark and twisted and just not _right_ , somewhere off in the distance, and I look past a mass of shuffling reanimated corpses, crazed mages with shivs and staves in their hands, and a couple of Templars with all the color drained out of their faces, to see a man with white hair and red, glowing eyes holding his staff above his head proudly with blood splattered along the front of his robes in large swathes. There must be at least a dozen people and creatures, a dozen who would see us dead and _I'm_ the only one moving. Oh my God... I don't think I've ever been this scared in my life. Not even when I'd thought I was insane. Not even back home when I was a mischievous kid, or otherwise. A cold sweat pricks along my forehead and the palms of my hands while I struggle to stand with my whole body shaking in fear I can't seem to control. That mage, the obvious leader of this fucked up lot, laughs that unnatural laugh again before slamming that staff of his on the ground with a resounding sound. Tears spring unbidden to my eyes when the first few of the bloated, rotting corpses and two mages charge at me - at _us_. I look back at Sloane with fear, and look sadly at his stilled body save for the quiet rise and fall of his chest. I'm the only one moving, and I'm the only one that can fight. We can't die, not now. Only the Archdemon has the right to end us. I fumble a few times to take my Dalish-made sword in my right hand and the dagger Leliana had given me in my left. I close my eyes at the sight of the charging vile creatures, and just... let go. I give myself to the blood magic coursing through my body on a soft, freeing exhale before the surge of firey pain takes over.

Something's different when I raise my sword and split a corpse's stomach open on a diagonal, spilling its cold entrails onto the stone of the floor in a sweep of effortless motion through the fragile skin. I didn't black out. There's still a... disconnect between what I'm seeing and what I'm doing though. It's like I'm watching someone with my hands and my blades spin behind that corpse in sliding steps along the floor before pounding my dagger into the back of the creature's skull with a crack and then wrenching the metal out of the unforgiving bone, but it doesn't _feel_ like I'm the one doing it. I'm a bystander to my own person when I dodge the sweep of one unnaturally clawed hand of another corpse before decapitating the creature, more skeleton than flesh, with a backwards arc of my sword. I bend and skid around a retaliation made by a blood mage, nullified of mana due to Alistair. I grab at the mage's outstretched arm with my dagger-holding hand and wrench him forward while pounding with my booted heel onto his exposed ankle. It dislocates with a snap, and he yells out in pain before my dagger-hand slides further up his arm to glide the blade across his neck with a quick flick of my wrist spilling his blood and ending his life. The next mage hesitates just briefly at the sight of his fallen fellow before charging at me with blind rage over taking him. My sword plunges into his gut once, twice, three times in rapid succession, and at each stab I can _feel_ the resistance of his muscle and bone giving way to the sharpened edge of my sword with a sickening pull along the blade.

I look up at a mindless mass charging at me with war cries bellowing out of the ones who can speak, and I react purely on instinct. I reach out with my hands before me and focus on the sensations I know to lead to me conjuring an aura of pain. Those before me cry out and claw at their hair and faces in agony while I rush towards them with an unnatural speed, a ferocity I'd recently found I can tap in to with the light of my reaver lines brightening the space around me and enveloping me in their power. I beat, stab, kick, and slice into everyone in my reach while they're near-completely immobile... and helpless. God... is this what I _do_ when I fight? This is mindless... these are _people_. I'm not given much more time to think on that, on what I'd done and am still doing, because by either some miracle, or perhaps a curse, I've killed everyone. Everyone except the white-haired mage that had paralyzed my companions. He's standing at the far edge of the room with his back towards the wall. I'm facing towards him in some sort of test of wills with dead and re-dead bodies littering the area around me, and their blood and gore drenching me to the bone. His eyes suddenly flicker red, and I'm off my feet and being pulled towards him by some unnatural, invisible force. His hand is around my neck holding me off of the floor, and my blades have been left uselessly by the bodies of those I'd slain. I claw at his hand squeezing around my neck with my gloved hand futilely, and I beat at his outstretched arm with my bared hand wearing the ring on my thumb. Wait... the ring. My blood magic lines feel different around it - could this be the reason for my partial gain of clarity? That thought feeds another, and I struggle to lean forward and slap my bared hand onto the edge of his jaw below the horrifyingly pleased smile gracing his face. He's happy to see the life threatening to leave my eyes. I can't die. That's all I can think to do - not die. He growls out the last word he ever speaks, 'bitch', when the tips of my fingers touching the stubbled skin of his chin surge with dark power, and I begin the torturing process of draining the life out of his body. There's a moment of struggle in his wild eyes before the skin of his that I can see shrinks and hardens into a thin shell over his bone. His wrist snaps off from his arm, and I fall to the ground clawing at my throat to remove his skeletal hand from it. I gasp for air, and each breath burns at the return of the vital substance.

There's a loud banging noise in the open archway of the room from broken double doors, and I see several abominations and corpses struggling to push their way through the wreckage with inhuman growls and groans on their lips. The sight of so many more creatures wanting to kill me, kill us, does me in. I scream out in a mess of surging emotions overwhelming me and threatening to break me - pain, fear, shame, disgust, and hate. I hold an unholy amount of hate for this God forsaken place. That feeling, in that moment, is so much stronger than the rest, and it feeds the burning of my webbed blood magic lines into a powerful aura of pain loosed far too soon from the last, and threatening to burn me from the inside out. It _hurts_.

"Karie..." I'm hearing things. I'm hearing things, and I can't see - my tears are blurring my vision. I'm crying helplessly. I just can't take it. What have I done? Jesus Christ, what did I do? "Love, please come back to me. It's over." The tears are wiped from my eyes by someone else's hands, not my own, and I blink to see the heart-breakingly concerned face of Sloane crouched before me on the blood slicked floor. "Are you hurt?" he asks me with an unfamiliar edge to his voice. I shake my head and feel my hands curl into fists from where they are laying on the tops of my thighs.

"Everyone's dead," I croak out in a voice much too quiet and broken. It's not a question. I can't feel any more dark spirits or vileness floating through the air, in this area at least.

Sloane breathes out a long breath before feathering his bare fingers along the side of my neck where that man had grabbed me and intended to strangle me to death. "You saved us," he says in a gentler tone.

"By golly, she did more than save our sorry hineys," I hear Amell's distinctive tone say from somewhere nearby. "Why haven't you done _that_ sooner, little lady?"

I see Sloane scowl harshly before turning his head away from me, "It's complicated, Enchanter. And frankly, none of your concern."

"I'm a monster," I breathe while blinking rapidly, before I repeat myself and speak with a conviction I feel down to my bones, " _I'm a monster_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! This will be a longer note, since these past 44 chapters are what I have written of this story as of now (11/19). This story was originally posted on my FanFiction account (same username). I've posted the story on here too per the request of one of my readers. :) I will be concurrently updating Truly Existing on AO3 and FF from this point forward. I am new to AO3, however, so if you notice any glaring formatting errors or anything else, please let me know. I should also mention that I am a member on Deviantart and I have made several artworks for this story. My Deviantart ID is Musicalrain0, and on there you can find the cover-image, Aereweld's portrait, Sloane Tabris' portrait, and Liana's portrait. I also have a sequel planned for this story, and when we get to it it'll be titled Truly Living. The sequel will be collaborated with momonigiri (on FF) and will share scenes and characters found within her DA2 story On Fire. Renzo Amell is such a character -- he will be found in both our stories. And so On Fire will contain major spoilers for this story's sequel. Thank you readers! I hope you've enjoyed the story to this point, and will continue to enjoy the chapters to come! :D


	45. Chapter 45

_..."I'm a monster."_

* * *

Tears fall from my eyes to splatter onto the backs of my curled fists - one gloved and one bare, but marred with something born of evil that I just can't be rid of. Everything got incredibly out of control so quickly. I'd been blissfully unaware of what'd happen in the midst of battle when I'd allow the blood magic to course through me and feed the unnatural abilities I'd unwillfully been given by those blood mages. All I knew was that when I'd did that, tapped into that well of power, things turned out in favor for us. And that's something that I'd wanted - I'd wanted us, our group, to prevail. I'd wanted to do my part to protect everyone. I'd wanted us to overcome those that would do us harm. I was so blind by my own ignorance though. I knew I'd fought to kill regardless of who the enemy is.

Aereweld had given me the knowledge to do so, and in my blood magic-laced haze, I'd used that knowledge without conscious thought and destroyed every enemy in my path. And I know with certainty that that's what I'd done, and is not an exaggeration on my own abilities. I saw the blood and gore after battle. I saw bits and pieces of what I'd do while I was doing it, like somehow I was trying to bring my conscious and body together through the blood magic that kept the two separate. I just couldn't quite achieve a synchronization of my mind and body when I'd give myself to my inhuman abilities though. The blood mages had wanted me to be mindless. They had wanted the blood magic and rage to be all that I knew. But I'd seen the results of the horrors we'd fought through when clarity returned to me - the bodies, the injuries sustained by my companions, the state of our weapons and armor. I witnessed things, but not like this. _Never_ like this.

I'd never quite felt like a puppet being strung along by rage and hate so strongly it might as well have been all I knew. I have felt, and come to recognize, the feelings of my blood magic as they changed in accordance with what I'd do since Sloane rescued me. I know, intimately, the particular burn of the powers being ignited. I know the surge of power that races like hot lead through my veins at the start of an aura of pain. I know the painful prickling, yet repulsively refreshing, sensation that heralds the draining of another's life force.

Since I've been in Thedas, I can't say I've been unexposed to the horrific things that can happen in a world where the sword holds more sway over the written word, but I wish with everything that I am, every little bit that I hold dear, that it wasn't true. The world I find myself in now is so starkly different from the only world I had ever known until I was taken. I'd nearly forgotten it all - I'd nearly forgotten the people I've lost, the things I've lost, and the events that helped to ultimately shape me in my adult life.

Though, I suppose that's all gone now, all that mattered in my past, when I was... kidnapped and taken to Thedas against my will. I'd lost my family, friends, my career, and everything I'd used to define _me_ as _myself_. I'd lost my entire _world_ , and have had it replaced with a place of fantasy and monsters... evil so embedded in this world like nothing I quite knew back home. This shit that has forced me to loose my own identity, and replace it with this... _this_ monster I've become. I'm now something vile, something twisted, dark... I'm a murderer. I'm a murderer by fault of those who'd done this to me, and by my own hands for _allowing_ it to happen. I can't control myself, and I don't think I can ever forgive myself for allowing that loss of control when it costs so much. I'm here in Thedas, trapped and forced by the situations I find myself in to do things I could _never_ think I would be capable of doing. People have died by my own hands, and their blood will forever stain my mind and my soul, no matter if they were murderers themselves.

" _I'm a monster_ ," I repeat in a voice I can barely recognize as my own. I feel and sound like a shadow of myself - of who I'd thought I was. I can't help but to think how fitting that is.

It's taken completely impossible things to change me into someone just as unordinary and terrible as the events that brought me here. Solidifying myself to that fact, of who I am _now_ versus who I thought I _was_ , I feel my tears stop cascading down my cheeks. The despair and shame I feel of loosing my innocence, of doing what I'd done and marking myself because of it, is still shaking my body in tremors. I am saddened beyond words to have lost what I'd held on to for so long. I know what I've done, and I deserve nothing else but to be who I am for those actions. I'm a monster, and that's all I can be like this.

"...No, darling, you're not." I hear the voice, the particular twang and tone of the man I've come to rely on more than anything. He saved me from a fate worse than death - to be the plaything of those who are inherently evil and to completely loose my humanity. Beneath the monster that I am, I know that I must be human too. I can still feel sadness, and I can still hate myself. I know, though it doesn't completely resonate in my thoughts at the moment, that I can't have those emotions and still be the mindless killing machine the cultists wanted me to be. I am nearly there though. I'm a monster, just not as terrible as I could have potentially been.

I shake my head at his words, though the movement doesn't jar his hand from where it's resting against the column of my neck. His tawny, calloused fingers are moving in soft sweeps against my nape in a movement that's intended to be soothing. He's too good to see the evil that I am. What kind of person would've done what I'd just done?

"Did you see what I did?" I croak as my thoughts pour out in words. His eyes are glassy with worry, worry for me. I don't deserve it. He deserves to care for someone good, and to be cared by someone good. He'd embraced his feelings for me completely and without a backwards glance the moment they'd entered his heart. That shows a kind of devotion I can't completely understand. And, I believe, a lack of regard for his own feelings. Did he ever think I could hurt him? Did he ever truly see what I'd do in battle, and connect that with the woman he sees? How could he want to be with someone who can slaughter a room full of men by herself?

"I killed..." I choke on the word briefly as I continue to bypass any kind of filter I may have had between my thoughts and speech, "I killed all those people, Sloane." I feel my hands curl tighter into fists atop my armor-clad thighs while my voice increases in volume with every passing word. I'm not really freaking out right now. I mean, I am, but I can see myself for what I am and it brings about a certain kind of clarity. "I killed them... I killed them until no one was left. I couldn't s-stop." I hold my gaze steady with his while I'd said that, and in the moments after. I want to see how he'll take that. How he'll finally see that I'm not good.

Maybe... maybe then he will just ask me to tell him how to defeat Uldred, how to stop the Archdemon, and then he'll leave me. Then he'll stop trying to do the impossible and protect me from all of this, and just allow me to be the monster that I am. He'll be free of his feelings and my feelings in turn, and then I won't have his concern, his kindness, when I don't deserve it. A part of me expects him to be repulsed by me, by how I'd slaughtered those people, so I can't taint the goodness in him. I deserve nothing less, and he deserves far more. I'm a murderer. He has to see that, can't he?

"You protected us," he says in a tone soft, though gruff while his eyes betray his emotions - there's so much concern there. He reaches out with his other hand and uncurls the fist my bared hand made before lacing our fingers together. I reflexively try to pull out of his grasp, but he holds steady. Just as his soulful eyes won't let me look away. "You _saved_ me," he says those words, and they instantly strike me as familiar. He's using my own words - the same thing I'd said to him before I'd come to terms with the reality of this place. Sloane saved me from those blood mages - I know it, and have both said and thought that enough times to have it be a truth.

But he's wrong. I may have saved him, physically, from coming to harm... from suffering at the hands of that white-haired mage or his thralls, but I've done no more good than that. I've caused him pain by reacting as I have. I have hurt him, and can still hurt him. He shouldn't be taking that risk with me. I shake my head again and advert my eyes from his. I can't bare to see that kindness for me he has any more. I'm entitled to absolutely no sympathy for what I've done. "I-I could've hurt you," I stutter out pathetically. How come I can't put my thoughts to words better? A lack of a filter doesn't mean the words come out right, apparently. "You saved me from those blood mages, but..." I trail off briefly and collect my thoughts some, "you can't save me from... from _this_. I'm a monster."

I take a risk and dare to look up at him again, and what I see there has the breath leaving my lungs and my heart clenching in pain. I've hurt him by saying that. Some part of me knew I would, that I would hurt him by speaking the truth, but it's worse to look at. He has to be giving up on me. Wouldn't any man in his shoes count me off as a lost cause? _Leave me be_ , my mind whispers at him, _let me lay with the pain I've caused_.

" _Stop saying that_ ," he whispers heatedly at me, and my heart betrays me by clenching again. He swallows harshly before leaning towards me and preventing me from looking away from him. I've come to care for those eyes of his, the line of his bare jaw, the shape of his lips, the way his hair frames his face... it's a weakness. And I'm nothing if not weak. Weak to the blood magic, weak to my rage, and weak when it comes to Sloane. It's not only his expression I've come to care for, but it's his soul. He looks at things so differently, believes in things so differently, and does things so differently that I'm left feeling so... inadequate as a _person_ in turn. I don't have his faith, his blind determination, but what monster does? I'm inadequate as a _good_ person because I'm not one.

I shake my head at his words yet again, but he interrupts me before I can say anything in regards to the matter at hand. "I know what a monster looks like," he tells me straight to my face, "I have seen one in person, and I had been witness to... the horrific things he'd done." He sucks in a harsh breath, and I'm left silent at how much emotion he's able to express in just the tone of his voice and the lines of his face. "You are leagues away from being a monster, Karie. I _knew_ that monster, I _stopped_ that monster, and you're _not_ him." His expression crumbles with sympathy yet again, while he tightens the hold on my hand and wraps the fingers of his other hand in the short unruly hair at the back of my head. The move brings me closer to him on the stone floor, and nearly suffocates me with his presence. Why can't he see what I know I am to be? Did he not see what'd just happened?

"You didn't act as a monster, dearest." He's so close his warm breath is feathering along my cheek, and I just can't look away. "You acted as a warrior - a protector. You had risked yourself and did what you _chose_ ," he emphasizes the word with a tightening of his hands, "to do for the safety of us all, and the furthering of our mission. _We_ are here to save people, _we_ choose to save people, and that is exactly what you did." He takes another deep breath and I'm still left without words to what he's said. "Death is a necessary part in being a warrior, and I know it's... difficult to come to terms with that. It's not easy, doing what we must, but we always act with the goal of protection in mind. You did nothing malicious or exceptionally cruel, love, and I don't believe you ever could."

My heart rate has picked up with all he's said and told me. He can't see me for what I am. He just can't. Why does he try to convince me of something that isn't true? I'm no warrior. I'm not a Grey Warden like him. My motivations in killing those people may have been pure at first, with the desire to defend and protect because I'd felt I had no other choice, but I'd gone out of my way to cause those people so much pain in their final moments. I tortured them with my aura of pain. I killed that white-haired mage slowly and deliberately in the most heinous way I could. Did those people truly deserve to die the way they had? Do the innocent lives they took, and planned to continue to take, justify the way I'd ended them?

"You," I take a breath and look away from him despite how close he still is to me. I can't hold his gaze any more, "you can't make sense of what I did." I shake my head again and feel his fingers inadvertently tug at my hair with the movement, "I _hurt_ them," I whisper desperately. Desperate for him to understand despite the words that I cannot say.

His hand comes around from my hair to lift my chin until I'm forced to look at him again, and I'm helpless but to meet his golden orbs. "There is pain in battle," he starts, "and there is pain in death. You stopped those men with what means you have. How you battled with them is no different than how you do battle with the darkspawn."

"But I've never," my voice cracks, "never _saw_ what I did like I did with them. I didn't know... didn't know that's what I did." I swallow and blink rapidly in an effort to grasp at my running thoughts before I blurt, " _How_ I killed them matters as much as _why_."

"You truly remember nothing of the battles we've engaged in?" he questions gently.

"I blackout," I repeat what I told him earlier at the tavern we were in. "I only remember some of it." I look away from him again, "But I could... _see_ what happened here. It doesn't matter. I know what I do now. I know what I am."

"You are _not_ a blasted monster," he says so heatedly that I feel my head snap up to look at him again in the darkness of the room we're sitting in. "What must I say to convince you of that?"

"Why do you have to convince me of anything?" I retort immediately when my despair over my actions is quickly irrationally taken over with misplaced anger towards him. "Why do you _fucking care_?" I spit.

The hurt that overtakes his features instantly fills me with a hot pang of shame. I've hurt him again with my words and not my actions. I may be a monster, but I'm still human. _Good_ , a horrible little part of me whispers, _you don't deserve his kindness._ "Why do you _care_ ," I continue heedlessly while I feel the press of tears at the backs of my eyes. It hurts me to hurt him, but I am weak and I am not deserving of his sympathies. He doesn't have to do this. "Why do you care," my voice cracks when I repeat myself, and I bend forward while my emotions surge through my body again. This is too much for me to take. It's just all too much to process at the same time.

I'm crying again, and I know I'm making a scene, but I can't help it. I feel Sloane's arms wrap gently around me while he brings me to lean against his armored chest, and I just... let him comfort me. I come to a realization then, while I'm trying to cry myself until I run out of tears. I may be a monster, but Sloane has an unshakeable faith in me that I'm not. It's enough for me to come to a rationalization of his words and actions in regards to me. He's a protector, like he said, but he's _my_ protector. He's charged himself with my well-being and guardianship, and for what? I have _nothing_ in this world except for the blood magic in my flesh. What could he possibly be getting in return for doing what he does?

And then I remember he's a Grey Warden, and how selflessly he's taken on the mantle of leadership and the near impossible task of defeating this Blight. It's in his nature to be selfless. He doesn't act the way he does towards me because he believes he'll get something in return; he looks after me because he _cares_. He's concerned for me because he's ruled by his sympathies, by his _heart_. And there's apparently nothing I can say or do to change that and put him off the idea of... well, _caring_. It's something I'd honestly never thought I'd be privileged to - someone who cares about me because I'm _me_ , regardless of what actions I may take or what I may say. It's frightening - it's frightening to know someone so honestly loyal and to have that loyalty directed at you without any alternative motives.

Does it matter how quickly that loyalty formed? How quickly we jumped from two people wrapped up in the Blight to two people so emotionally tangled? Perhaps it wasn't so sudden as I'd first thought. Maybe Sloane has shown exemplary care for me from the moment he spared me from the blood mage cultists' plans. Maybe I've relied on him, and wanted to be beside him, from that moment too. He's my protector, but I want to protect him as well. That's why I'd asked to fight. That's why I'd fought the way I did. That's why I killed those people - for _him_. I do what I do because of him, because of my feelings for him. I don't deserve his kindness, and perhaps I'm selfish to _want_ it, but it's not selfish for me to care for him and to have him be the motivation for what I do. There's a mutual desire between the two of us to see the other safe, and I'm not so blind that I'm unable to recognize the root of these feelings, at least now that I've figured them out.

I shift myself a bit against him and raise my head to his pointed ear when my jumbled thoughts finally settle. "I know why you care," I tell him in a breathy voice that's so quiet that he probably couldn't hear me if I wasn't pressed against his ear, even with his better hearing. What I have to say, what I know I have to tell him to spare him any more pain, isn't for the others to hear. I may know why he cares, and I may know why I care for him, but... to protect him, I have to push him away. It's my turn to be selfless for his sake. "And you shouldn't feel that way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh! I don't think I've mentioned this on here yet, but I've written a one-shot set in the TE-verse from Sloane's POV titled 'Truly Existing: Finding Someone' and it's set during the time Sloane first comes across Karie in the blood mage cultists' cabin. It's part of my 'Truly Existing' series. :)


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains adult situations. Please avoid the tail-end of this chapter if you're squeamish about such things.
> 
> EDIT 12/27: I figured out how to embed images! XD This chapter has been edited with a scene from the Fade dream I had painted after publishing this chapter.

_"I know why you care. And you shouldn't feel that way."_

* * *

Sloane pulls back from me, though I'm still very much wrapped up in his arms and leaning my weight against his solid frame. The closeness doesn't bother me, even in face of the conversation we're having. I've been told on several occasions in the past that I have trouble maintaining personal space, even when my presence is unwelcome. However, given my proximity, I watch a whole range of emotions flit through his expression while he raises his golden orbs to bore into my dark browns, and I find myself holding my breath while I recognize them. There's a hint of anger there, disbelief, and finally the line of his brow and the creases of his face seem to settle on a look of stubbornness intermixed with a measure of damnable understanding.

"I'm afraid, Karie," Sloane starts with his tone low and gruff enough to send a slight chill down my spine, "You don't have the authority to dictate how I may or may not feel."

My mouth opens as if to say something in return, but nothing comes to my lips after an incredibly long moment of indecision, and so I close my mouth with a snap. I shake my head and frantically search my thoughts for something to tell him. What I could I possibly say to get him to understand why I'd said that - told him to cast aside any kindness for me and allow me to wallow in the darkness that seems adamant to smother me. I deserve nothing more for what I've done, and what I am. Why can't he see that as clearly as I can?

"Enough time has been laid to waste," a snide, familiar feminine voice cuts through the moment and interrupts the myriad of my thoughts before they can settle and I can properly rebuff Sloane's declaration. "I grow weary of this... 'Twould be better to allow this Circle torn asunder to destroy itself, than be subject to anymore of this pitiful drabble."

"I think we can spare Karie a moment to collect herself considering she just beat the Void-damned shit out of _everything_ in this room." I look past Sloane's shoulder to see Jowan standing stiffly beside Morrigan with a harsh scowl on his troubled face. He had been trying to build a camaraderie with the witch, but given his stance now, I think he's rethinking that.

"'Twouldn't have been necessary if the fool Templar didn't nullify we mages. _I_ could have very well counteracted that glyph of paralysis with even a modicum of mana at my disposal - were I to be in possession of some," she directs her fuming yellowed gaze towards Alistair who raises his gauntleted hands in defense.

"I didn't know that would happen!" He defends weakly, "That's never happened before!"

"Perhaps you haven't the experience to do battle alongside mages without harming your allies. You appear to be quite young, and the young are often careless," Wynne calmly points out with Alistair gaping after her, before stepping closer to where Sloane and I are still huddled beside the mummified corpse of the white-haired blood mage who had started this madness in the first place. "I agree with the... apostate, however," she starts with her lips down-turned and her aged hands folded together over her illuminated staff. "Enough time has been spent here. We should continue with haste."

"Karie is -" Sloane starts while releasing me gently with a touch of reluctance in the movement, before turning on his heels to fluidly stand and face the older woman.

"Though I am grateful for her protection," Wynne interrupts with a hardened gaze of born of ice directed at our leader. She is speaking of me, but she doesn't even spare a glance my way. "The woman is imbued with dark magic, with the stability, or lack there of, being shown here. I would strongly advise caution in allowing her to engage any more blood mages, Warden-Commander. Perhaps she should join Senior Enchanter Karl in the Chapel where she may be removed from anything that may... trigger something unsavory."

I feel my eyes widen while I look up towards Wynne from around Sloane's knees. She still has it out for me... after everything, she still speaks of me little better than she would shit smeared on her boot. She... is right though. Not about leaving me behind - I'd rather be helpless standing in the shadows watching the people I've come to care for fight through the madness of this place on their own, than somewhere else entirely not knowing what's happening to them - she's right about the blood magic in my flesh. Even with a touch more control than I've ever had yet so far, being able to actually see what I'm doing and feel it, though it's disjointed, I'm still mindless to the dark powers fluttering through me. I kill without concern for consequence or thought for what I've done, and I torture people to a painful death as if it were second nature. What if I accidentally hurt one of my friends or companions like I did Alistair when he woke me from a nightmare? What if I was so wrapped up in the heat of the battle and the rush of power in my veins that I mistook a friendly face for an ill spirit's? No, Sloane's right, I shouldn't fight, but I will stay with them... if only to selfishly quiet my own fears for them.

"I wanna stay," I squeak out quietly from where I'm still half-curled against the filthy stone floor behind Sloane.

Wynne finally turns that sharp gaze of hers towards me, and I go unnaturally still in face of the barely hidden disgust filling up the void of her eyes. " _You_ ," Wynne starts with a grating harshness held in just that one word, "are more dangerous than any maleficar I've yet seen." A sneer crosses her face briefly before she collects herself in the same moment, so quick you would've had to be looking at her to catch it, "You can use their foul magic against them, I will grant you that, but there is far too much at stake for us to be at an impasse every time you cannot control the powers held within your own body." She takes a breath, "You are a liability."

"You go too far," Sloane fumes at her in my stead. I can see how tense he is by the line of his shoulders and the stiffness of his back. He's defending me, again, but Wynne is right. I am dangerous, I cannot control myself, and perhaps that's enough to make me more in the way than anything else despite my want to help... to protect. A monster destroys, after all - and I am a monster.

"I happen to agree with the devilishly handsome Warden," I hear the sultry, accented tones of Zevran and turn to see him standing on the edge of the mage-light where he's lit enough that the glimmer of his unsheathed dagger is still visible. "This would mark my second life-debt owed to the demure reaver." Zevran takes a single step forward into the illuminated space, "Someone who has spared the likes of me, _twice_ , is certainly more deserving of better insults than that. _Tch_ , that was simply shameful."

I look towards Zevran and shift until I'm sitting with my feet tucked under me while the assassin goes on with examples of 'better' insults. What have I possibly done to deserve these people's loyalties? Why do they all, in their own ways, seem to put extra effort in sticking up for me? There are some that noticeably don't, but even still, those that do hold care for me. They shouldn't, but it's there all the same. _Why_? Will I ever understand their motivations? I have Sloane figured out, but the others?

I move to stand on unsteady legs while doing my best to ignore the now pointless conversation when Liana innocently chimes in with confusion, or when Amell squawks in embarrassment over something particularly crude the Antivan says. I look down at my bared hand and the band of swirling blood magic and metal sitting below the knuckle of my matching magic-laced thumb. This little ring caused me to realize so much. It has brought about clarity, in more ways than one. Should I be thankful for that understanding and the revelations of my actions and the motivations of not just myself, but Sloane as well? I'm reminded of the old proverb in which ignorance is bliss. A small part of me misses the peacefully blind happiness that only such ignorance can allow. I was stubborn. I had wanted to fight, and I did. I killed those people in the most terrible way I could, and now I feel bereft of those moments where I'd thought I'd do _good_ by taking a blade between my eager hands. I look away from my thumb and off into the distance to the torn and bloodied bodies decorating the floor in a grotesque mockery of the tranquil beauty possessed by any graveyard.

I walk towards the bodies and amongst them looking for two of the instruments I had used to slaughter them. I had instilled myself with ideas of compassion and peace early in my childhood, though I didn't know it at the time, and built upon those ideals in my adult life once I'd realized just how deep they had run. I'm not vegan for superficial and shallow ideas of body image or trendiness; I chose to be vegan gradually over several years of internal debate and philosophical exploration. I'd minored in philosophy with a concentration in ethical theory in college, and that had allowed me to consciously choose to be vegan for moral reasons. It did my soul a world of good and allowed me to feel at peace with my personal choices, and was the stepping stone for me to accept my differences outside of the norm in other aspects of my life as well.

Veganism is beyond a diet for me personally, and affects me in everything that I do in one way or another. Exploring those ideas and coming to terms with them, showed me that I could accept myself for who I am regardless of what the majority of other people did or thought. I'd strongly held onto the idea of compassion towards all living things from that point on, but what compassionate individual would allow themselves to be swallowed up by hate and rage so strongly that they _killed_ people, people who were far from innocent, but dead by the hands of a person only wishing peace and equality in a world practically bereft of such virtues?

Shaking my head at myself for my running thoughts, I find my ill-wrought blades and sheathe them into the scabbards at my hips. Thedas is far different from where I'm from, and certain things have to be taken into account when acting here. I shouldn't fight, I know I don't want to fight, but I'm not ignorant enough to think that I can possibly survive in this world riddled with Blight without ever removing my blades from their scabbards again. I only pray that by that time, I won't be cruel or hurt those I've come to care for. I am a monster. It will be difficult to _not_ do that, but, if only for my sanity, I have to have the faith that there will come a time where I can protect myself and others... without Sloane stepping in as my guardian when only _I_ should be the keeper of _myself_ in order to make it here with the blood magic in my skin. I have to be strong for myself, and I have to protect Sloane from the weaknesses in me that I can't help, even if I'm not so sure just how strong I can be. He shouldn't care for me, because I don't deserve it and he deserves far more. I'm a fucking mess, and I know I will only hurt him in the long run.

Turning away from the people I've come to rely on, and the man whose unshakeable loyalty I've been undeservingly privileged to, I feel the webs of dark magic lacing my skin flare up in the direction of the battered double doors leading further on this floor. There's something there... a spirit. The particular feeling ebbing into my flesh and the nausea returning to the pit of my stomach signifies that it's not of the friendly variety, and is rather something to be concerned about.

Alistair is the closest to me from my position, and so I go to the younger man, whom I occasionally think fondly of as a brother-from-another-mother, with a wild franticness shaking my body and movements while I grasp at his metal armor in an effort to get his attention. He looks down at me with surprise and concern in his eyes while I blurt, "There's something else here - further down. Another spirit. A strong one."

The guy snaps to attention and calls out towards Sloane in a voice accustomed to addressing a superior, "Sloane, Karie says there's another demon on this floor."

Sloane brushes past those still engaged in the earlier conversation and comes towards us with a seriousness and severity in his posture and expression. "Just the one?" he asks with a look that reminds me of what I'd last told him, and what he'd snapped at me for. He told me that I can't tell him how to feel, well, then I'll just have to to figure out a way to get him to stop since a direct approach doesn't cut it. He can't care for me. He just shouldn't.

I nod at his question regardless, and twist my fingers together in building nerves while I reply, "I... I think it's a powerful one though." I explain, "it feels different than these did."

He nods in turn with a soft sigh leaving his lips. "There's but one more foe to be fought," he announces to the others, "I suggest we take care of it before it comes for us."

Everyone agrees in one way or another, and then I'm trailing behind Sloane, Randall, and Alistair while stepping over slain corpses, abominations, and people alike as we make our way down the hall. This whole corridor strikes me as vaguely familiar, and by the time I hear the low drawl of the ill spirit and start to feel the cloak of fatigue it's words bring with each syllable uttered, I realize that I've just made a horrible error in the way of trying to protect everyone, especially Sloane. This spirit in abomination shape, it's draping and hunched form with one glowing eye, can be nothing else but a spirit of Sloth. _The_ spirit of Sloth from the game that had frustrated me to no end - and that was through a television screen.

"No," I gasp out while wrapping my arms around my middle and willing myself not to fall victim to something I should have seen coming if I weren't so lost in my goddamn mind. I see Sloane start to falter before me and I reach out with both hands in an effort to steady him. "Don't... fall," I tell him in a voice quiet and strained beyond my own control while my hands clumsily find purchase in the groves of the armor on his back. " _Don't_ ," I plead with him in voice so soft I can barely hear the word float past my lips.

Sloane collapses to his knees, and I'm dragged with him while my heavy eyelids close against the strength I will myself to have. I've failed. I've failed to protect him, and it was all my own doing.

* * *

" _Karie_ ," there's a familiarity in the voice that calls my name. That accent, the particular tone of it... it's Sloane? Sloane... He's calling me.

My eyes waver behind my closed lids before they wearily open and I'm face-to-face with the familiar square features of the one elf I would always recognize. But something doesn't seem right. There's something there, in his expression, that shouldn't... or maybe there's something missing. Why am I looking at him even? Last I saw, I saw his back. The thick leather armor of his, the scars of battles long past dug into it, and the ichor of battles new staining it. But with that little memory, more confusion, and questions, spring up in my mind. The little lines that have settled at the corners of his eyes and lips, evidence of the stress he's so good at hiding, aren't there. His expression is open and carefree, bright even. It's so strange to see.

"What...?" I feel my brows furrow with my soft question. This... what I can see... It's not resonating with me. Unless... perhaps I've blacked out again and now have no memory of what lead to here.

"Where are we?" I ask in an attempt to figure out why there's just so much confusion bogging down my mind.

He chuckles cheerfully, "At supper with the family, love." He brushes his lips against the swell of my cheek, and the feel of them is so comforting, so familiar. It brings me a modicum of peace to feel them while I think on what he's said.

He drags one hand through my unpinned hair, and I watch the dark and loosely curly strands wrap around his fingers out of the corner of my eye. My hair's... long? It, it seems like it hasn't been that long in _months_. I feel that furrow still firmly on my face when Sloane chuckles softly again and leans close to me, "You can't tell me you've forgotten the food in front of you when you're eating for two." His opposite hand rubs down my abdomen... my very swollen middle.

I gasp in shock at the sensations pulling at my skin, and look down to see that odd feeling of being extremely bloated has a reasonable cause. My stomach is several inches rounder than it should be. "What?" I blurt uncontrollably at the sight of _me_ swollen with an early pregnancy. I had never thought I would have children. Never. Sure, I like children enough as the next person, care for them as people and show kindness for them when I can, especially since I'd worked in a pediatrician's office - it's almost reflex to, but the idea of them, my own children, never really solidified as something I'd have. I'd thought fondly of the idea of spending time, and helping out, with any potential nieces and nephews I may have had rather than imagining doing the same for any children of my own. Super-aunt rather than super-mom.

That compounded with the fact that there's a little part of my mind whispering in urgency at me that Grey Wardens can't conceive, that the Taint makes them infertile, I'm more than a little confused at the sight of me pregnant.

Which makes me repeat the question I'd just said with that confusion more than evident in my tone. I would _remember_ if I was pregnant and Sloane was the baby-daddy, _right_? " _What_?"

Sloane laughs again, happily, and leans over to kiss me on the tip of my nose. "How could you forget _that_ little miracle?" He smirks and gestures towards my middle. When I don't outright respond, still having a mini-panic attack and conversation at myself in my head, his expression becomes a bit more somber while he looks towards me with his loving golden eyes, "Are you still clouded by sleep from your earlier nap, love? I would think that you weren't so tired as to forget yourself." He frowns a bit, "Perhaps I should send for a healer, just to be safe. This is unlike you."

I shake my head at him while I reflexively try to ease his worries. "No, no healer. I'm okay, just..." The corner of my eye catches the table I'm seated at, and I glance down at the plate of roasted vegetables of all sorts - tomatoes, corn, squash, onion, potato, eggplant, mushroom - and I feel my mouth water at the sight, "Maybe I am hungry."

There's a higher-pitched and distinctly feminine laugh in front of me, and turn my head up to see three other people seated at the table that at first, I don't recognize. But given a moment I come to place the hair, the eyes, and the wizened face... I do know who they are. They're Sloane's cousins and father, and I feel silly at not having recognized them immediately - why wouldn't they be here too? Of course I know, we're _home_. I inwardly berate myself for my loss of mind, and blame my lapse in memory on the oddity that is the pregnancy swelling my middle.

I raise one hand to my face as if to physically scrub the fogginess from my mind, and I still when a cool metal band that _did not know_ was on my ring finger presses against the heated skin of my forehead. I jerk my hand from my face to see an entirely Andrastian wedding band very blatantly sitting on my finger. I trace it with the pointer finger of my right hand where it's sitting on my left, and some sense returns to me at last. Everything just clicks - Sloane and I are married, we're pregnant, and we're home in Denerim. Why am I not remembering all these obvious things? What is _wrong_ with me? Maybe I overslept... or maybe it's because I feel like I'm half-starved.

I dig in to the plate in front of me with a weak smile on my face in an attempt to appease Sloane at least, and perhaps reassure myself that I'm not loosing my mind - _again_ , and then we all start on the meal with gusto. Idle conversation floats by, but I ignore it in favor of trying to piece together a life, a happy one at that, that I'm having trouble concentrating on in my mind. Good God, I really do hope I don't need a healer. Not remembering your own wedding is probably a sign that something's wrong, right?

I swallow down these questions and insecurities in an effort not to worry Sloane any further than I have, and I finish my plate while chuckling at something my father-in-law said that I hadn't even really heard.

"Well," Cyrion starts with a warm smile directed towards the end of the long table that Sloane and I are occupying, "I think these old bones should make their way to their own home. Thank you for the lovely meal, you two. It's always good to see you so happy, son."

"Likewise, Father," Sloane smiles in turn. "Allow me to escort you to the door," he says while moving to stand with his hands braced on the tabletop.

"Pfft," Shianni starts with a hand waving dismissively in the air and standing before he can, "I'll walk Uncle back, Sloane." She sends a mischievous wink Soris' way while moving away from the table, "You should have a word with Soris about his _lady friend_ ," a smirk curls her lips at riling her cousin who gapes at her.

"I don't need his help!" Soris defends which sends a chorus of laughter through the air.

"We all know you do," Sloane grins a shit-eating grin. " _I_ tamed a reaver, need I remind you," he says with warmth despite the teasing in his tone, "I think you could do with a bit of my advice."

I nudge him with my elbow for his comments while I make to start clearing the table with a small smile curling my lips despite myself. I take the dishes to the tidy little kitchen where I can still hear the muffled and cheerful voices of my extended family through the open doorway. The sound of it makes my smile grow wide enough to hurt my face. Everything's just so wonderful, perfect. I fleetingly wonder how were we so fortunate to get here. I come back to the spacious dining area once the familiar chore is done to see the rest of the family has left our home for the evening. Leaving me alone with Sloane. My husband. Jesus, that sounds weird in my head.

"What would you like to do, love?" Sloane sways towards me before wrapping an arm around my back. He bends slightly then to feather his lips against my forehead in a loving caress. He pulls back slightly before speaking with a softness to his tone, "sit in front of the fireplace and share stories of times long past? Brew some tea and read a book? Whatever it is that you want," he lifts my face with a gentle caress along my jaw before pressing his lips against mine in a touch so light that it's barely there, "we shall do," he says with the breath of his words feathering against the sensitive skin of my own lips. The sensation and closeness, the steady pressure of his warm arm against my spine, it all fuels something entirely different from ideas of storytelling or reading to claim my thoughts.

Have I ever noticed the way the firelight brings out the brighter ruby tones in his hair like many shimmering jewels? The greens and subtle browns in his golden-hazel eyes showing so much warmth and care? I bring my hands up from my sides to run them lightly along the muscular edge of his pronounced biceps, tracing the taught muscle and feeling a tightness build in the depths of my stomach despite the relatively tame gesture. I then run my fingers up and along the tops of his shoulders feeling the dips and groves of muscle and bone, before I take my right hand and run the pads of my fingers against the jut of his collarbone peaking out from beneath the edge of his careworn grey tunic. I feel my breath speed up just noticeably at my tracing of his form, carefully mapping a body I'm undeniably attracted to - a body belonging to a man whose mind I'm nothing if not drawn to. A person I care for far too much.

I can feel the long exhale of breath that leaves his lungs against the palm of my hand, before he takes a step closer while leaning his head down to speak directly into my ear, "It seems you have something else on your mind."

I smile without denying my intentions, and look up at him, meeting my eyes to his and feeling nothing but love and happiness for the man before me, "I do."

His warm hands move down the curve of my spine, agonizingly slow, to the swell of my ass. He cups me to bring me closer to lean against his hard chest, as well as I can given the extra room needed for my swollen middle. I raise my face to his without prompt, and stand a bit on my tiptoes to press my lips to his. He smiles against my mouth before his own lips start to move against mine. With a sudden brashness due to the heat of desire licking at my nerves, I flick my tongue against his bottom lip which prompts him to open his mouth with shameless impatience. I press closer, wanting nothing else but to be near to him, and he helps me to by lifting me slightly with his hands moving to the bottom of my ass to give me the leverage I need. My tongue slides against the roof of his mouth once I'm close enough, and I can't help but to hum at the pleasant sensation before I run my tongue along his. He sighs into me while turning his head slightly to the side to give me better access to his mouth.

I hear something then, a sound like shattering glass, and it startles me enough that I break away from him. I look around for the source of the sound, but I can't seem to spot anything that would warrant it.

"Love," Sloane calls to me and I turn to see his eyes dark, but his expression still happy and tinged with desire that I'm sure is reflected on my own. "That was probably Randall. I'm sure we'll come across a broken vase to pick up after. _Later_ ," he tells me while moving one hand languidly from my ass to take one of my hands from his shoulder and into his own. He threads our fingers together before suggesting gently, though leaving no room for question, "I want to take you to our bed." And I wouldn't dare deny him. I'm happiest with Sloane, here and elsewhere, and I want nothing more than to express my care and joy for him in the most liberating, and moving, way I know.

I lean closer, leaning upwards to press my lips to his in a quick kiss of agreement. I then pull back enough to appreciate the beauty of lust and love in harmony within his expression, before I speak without consciously putting thought to my words, "I love you, Sloane." I hear that sound of breaking glass again, but it's not worrisome enough for me to look away from the man before me.

The smile on his face is bright enough to cause a blush to tinge my cheeks at _me_ being the recipient of such a smile, and then he leads me further into our home by our twined hands and the other of his a comforting weight on the small of my back. When we enter a darkened, slightly cool room housing a large bed piled high with blankets and pillows, I'm suddenly enveloped by eager hands at my hips and nipping teeth at my neck. The sudden move from submissive to domineering brings a breezy chuckle out of my throat. He pulls back and looks at me with an adorably feigned pout partially hidden in the shadows of the room.

"Let me," I ask with a smile in my voice, and he nods before kissing me with a slowly sensual sliding of lips and tongue. I kiss his cheek after, before moving slightly away and running my hands under the hem of my tunic. I look at him once, meeting my eyes to his, before I lift the starchy fabric up and over my head. I immediately shiver at the chill in the room, before I look down at my nearly nude top-half covered in goose-flesh. The fine swirling webs of dark magic in my skin are oddly comforting in face of my bulging stomach, bigger looking now without a shirt. I run my hands gently over the swell of it, nearly mesmerized at the unbelievable sight.

There's suddenly a familiar tawny hand joining my own on my middle, and I look up towards Sloane with the most joyous expression I think I've ever held. "This is ours," I tell him in a whisper, too afraid that talking any louder will ruin this moment. There's the sound of glass crunching again, but it's barely loud enough to be heard over the rushing of blood in my ears or the beating of my heart. Sloane and I kiss again, pouring all our emotion into the act. I only pull back, not for air, but when he presses his hips into me allowing me to feel the physical effects our actions and feelings have had on him.

I look up towards him, tracing a hand down the column of his neck to settle on his chest, while I reach around with my other hand to the clasps of my breastband sitting on my back. The little hooks take a moment to release, but once they're free it falls to the floor where my discarded tunic lays. His hands come up to cup me almost the moment the fabric is gone, and my mouth opens in a silent gasp involuntarily at the attention. One of his hands wriggle around to settle between my shoulder blades while his head bends down to allow him to suckle at the curve of my neck, and I squeeze my thighs together at the sensations wrapping themselves around me.

Sloane backs me into the edge of the bed, and a soft sound of surprise leaves me when I fall over on my backside onto the blankets. He climbs beside me, sending a heated look my way that, for some reason, brings about a smile to my face.

He comes close then to trail his chapped lips along my neck to my collarbone while I twist my fingers into the silky strands of his hair, silently urging him to continue with my fingers rubbing circles on his scalp. Before he can continue any further though, I hear the odd sound of shattering glass again - louder than ever before, almost an explosion of sound. I startle and nearly scream, not from the sound, but at Sloane suddenly going still against me, far too still to be natural.

And then I feel it - a warm liquid splattering against my stomach and pooling to drench the curve of my hip with its wetness, and the wafting smell of copper in the air. There's a grunt of noise, the unmistakable sound of metal running across bone and squelching against tissue, and then I turn enough to see _Sloane_ standing behind himself and pulling free a dagger from his own back with a look of complete and utter rage. _Two Sloanes_. One Sloane just _murdered_ the other.

That scream that had been threatening to bubble out of my throat does, and the helplessness of the sound runs my throat raw.

I watch, unblinkingly, as the now dead Sloane slowly turns... purple while the entire rest of the room begins to shimmer and fade away into nothingness. The long hair that had laid across my one shoulder disappears gradually along with the swell to my stomach. My semi-naked form slowly becomes clothed again in the familiar brown leather Dalish armor I call my own. My brain stutters to a halt unable to process these changes, let alone the sight of one enraged Sloane staring at me with an otherwise blank expression over the still changing form of himself laying dead against my thigh.

I brace myself with a sharp intake of breath to look down at the dead body pressing against me to not see Sloane anymore, but what I know in some distant part of my mind to be a spirit of desire in male form. The room then fades completely to be replaced with the ether of the Beyond, and the panic in my mind reaches an all time high while I begin to shakily piece together what's happened here.

"None of this was real," Sloane, the _actual_ Sloane, says rather harshly with barely tempered rage. " _It_ ," he spits with disgust, "wasn't me."

"Suledin, lethallan," I hear a familiar voice calmly tell me in soothing tones, and I turn my head just slightly to be greeted with the sight of Aereweld clad in her familiar black and green armor. Her violet eyes shine with sadness. "An ill spirit has toyed with you," she adds to the explanation Sloane had started. "You are free," she breathes before holding one tattooed hand in my direction. "Now join us, ma'lin."


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After publishing the last chapter I'd made a digital painting of a scene in Karie's Fade Dream with the 'demon' Sloane. I've edited the last chapter with the image, but just for curiosity's sake, here's a link to the painting for chapter 46 on my deviantart:
> 
> http://musicalrain0.deviantart.com/art/Grey-Warden-Sloane-Tabris-and-Karie-from-TE-500122512

_"None of this was real. It wasn't me."_

* * *

I tear my eyes away from Aereweld's outstretched hand and lift my own ungloved hand before me, taking a moment to gaze down at the empty space where a wedding band had sat a few heartbeats ago. My opposite hand moves down to my armored, and now flat, stomach with something like a soft gasp of despair and disbelief leaving my lips. That all just felt so... _real_. I close my eyes tightly at the thought. _It wasn't real_ , I tell myself, _that was a spirit_. But, really, what kind of person am I to have believed in that though? I must be someone extremely naive and foolish to have let myself be swept up in a false reality, because, what, I can't take living? Or perhaps I would rather live anyway but the way I am now?

I know deep down in the very depths of my soul that I am fortunate to be alive. The events that brought me here, the experimental blood ritual that had plucked me from my world, could have very well killed me. _No one_ is supposed to cross the Veil; it's an unwritten rule of magic. Taking into account the vast amount of _death_ I've been exposed to, I should be grateful for _any_ life that I have, even if I sour the world with the blood magic in my flesh, or risk the lives of others because of it. And similarly, I _know_ that I cannot deny the reality before me, at least, now that I've been shown otherwise. Being surrounded by the _real_ Sloane and Aereweld resonates differently with me. It's almost as if I can feel the difference in their auras and know them instinctively as themselves because of it. It's difficult to explain to myself, but it feels almost as if a blindfold has been lifted from my not just my eyes, but my entire being.

To top it off, the spirit that had prayed on me is cold and lifeless, bleeding out into the energies of the Beyond beside me. I flit my gaze around briefly and recognize the eerie ethereal glow of the Beyond, and such a sight simply cannot be replicated elsewhere. But everything I had just been assaulted with, the sensations... I... what, imagined eating food that wasn't real? I _imagined_ those feelings of warmth and contentment while with... with who I'd _thought_ was _Sloane_? The surge of emotion that takes me with those thoughts causes the hot sting of tears to press against my eyes, but I hurry to scrub them away before they can fall. What am I doing? Why am I mourning something I never really had? The tendrils of magic that had influenced my mind and wrapped themselves around me are ebbing away now that the source of their conjuring is dead, but, perhaps, it's still enough to cloud my mind and hold that false reality in the forefront of my thoughts. Because that wasn't real.

It wasn't real, and I shouldn't care that I don't have it anymore since I never even had it in the first place.

Both my hands settle against my stomach that is just as empty feeling as my heart. The happiness I had felt is quickly being replaced with the coldness of truth that's all too painfully familiar in it's numbness. I bow my head to hide my thoughts from those who can so easily read me, as I'm more than aware I'm being watched by two people I hold so dearly. Everything would be just so plain for them to see on my expression, and I just don't think I can properly deal with their thoughts on the matter right now. I'm _such_ a dumbass. How could I seriously believe any of _that_? God, if I were a mage, I would've been possessed due to my own naivety long ago.

" _Karie_." I hear Sloane break the silence, and my head snaps up towards him at the harshness in his tone. I inadvertently curl in tighter on myself while faced with his anger. I don't think I've ever seen a look like that directed my way before from him, and a distinct part of me never wants to see that look again. As if sensing my disquiet, I watch his face scrunch briefly before a long breath blows past his lips seemingly in an effort to collect himself, and then he repeats himself with far less venom in his tone, "Karie. I -" He stops abruptly and shakes his head while swiping a hand against his forehead in the same moment. For once, it seems, he doesn't know what to say to me. He _always_ knows what to say, and I feel a couple traitorous tears escape my eyes with his hesitance. Maybe he finally sees how weak I am. Maybe I'll finally get what I've been after, and maybe, just maybe, he'll finally cast me aside as I deserve.

With a surging desire to flee from this situation, from _him_ , I scramble to my feet and quickly move away from both Sloane and the cooling body of the creature that had played with my mind. That... _thing_ made me believe in a life that's impossible. It was _never_ possible. It can't be. Then... why is there a frantic little part of me clawing at my mind telling me _that's_ not true. That I could have that life if I wanted it badly enough. I _can't_. _We can't_ , I whisper to myself desperately.I don't deserve his kindness, or his care, or his love. He deserves so much more than what I can offer, and I can't offer the same affection in return. My place is by his side as a guide, and nothing more. I'll only ever be a mindless killer, as I have been. And he's, well... Sloane's a kind soul full of sympathy, determination, and loyalty so strong it sometimes takes the breath away from me. I squeeze my eyes shut again and turn away with the overwhelming haze of my thoughts and feelings. I'm not entitled to pity either. I _need_ to get my fucking shit together.

"You told me once," Sloane starts and I'm helpless but to look back towards him as soon as his voice reaches my ears. He doesn't meet my eyes, but instead is looking off in the distance of the Beyond as though his mind is elsewhere, a different time it seems, "that demons pray on our inner-most desires." His eyes close briefly, and when he speaks next all the anger in his voice is gone to be replaced with something akin to defeat. It's heartbreaking to hear that in his voice, and more than a little terrible to see it held in the lines of his form.

"When I awoke here, Mother was alive," he tells me and finally meets his eyes to mine. The simple misery in his gaze draws me helplessly towards him. I've taken a few steps in his direction before I've noticed, and I force myself to stop and tap down on the desire to comfort before he speaks next, "and you and I, well, it was similar to what had just taken place here. For you."

He smiles sadly and too takes a step in my direction. "Your friend," he gestures briefly in Aereweld's direction, "she had spared me from falling victim to a fantasy constructed purely to imprison me. And by doing so she'd reminded me of the demon now lording over us on the other side of the Fade." He takes a short breath in his explanation of what'd led him to this point, and takes another step forward. "I'd met a mage, trapped here as well, who'd told us what we'd needed to do - what he couldn't accomplish. And then we found ourselves here," he sweeps one hand out to encompass the grainy and ever-changing space surrounding us.

"How much did you see?" I wince just after I ask the question. I hadn't even consciously registered that I'd wanted to ask something at all before speaking.

My hands twist nervously together while he takes yet another step closer and into my personal space. "Enough to know that you truly don't wish to withdraw yourself, as you seem to have set yourself on doing." He reaches one hand out to touch my arm, and I foolishly allow myself the comfort of his warm palm against the linen exposed between the pieces of my armor. "And enough to know that we are of the same mind. Vulnerable, as we are, towards one another." I close my eyes unwilling to show him just how true those words are. I feel those walls of determination and selflessness for his sake crack and start to crumble as the knowledge that he'd desired a similar life, with _me_ , solidifies in my mind as fact. Some part of him desires a happiness, together, and that's nothing short of world shattering. How could he possibly want that? Goddamn.

"No," I defend weakly with my eyes still closed, though my arm's still willingly held by his hand with a desperation for contact, a _real_ touch from this man. A spirit had touched me far too intimately for comfort, wearing _his_ face. I need to be assured that he is _real_ , that it's really Sloane saying these things to me and not another figment of this place toying with my fragile emotions. There's a chance he's just a spirit more skilled at twisting reality and making me believe in the falsehood of it. "Is this real?" I ask on a whisper while my thoughts shift into words. I blink my eyes open to look at him seeing a care and worry fighting for dominance in his gaze. "Are _you_ the one really sayin' these things?"

He takes my ungloved hand into his, briefly running one finger over the skin where that imposter of a wedding band had sat. " _Yes_ ," he says in a tone trying to show the truth of that singular word through any lingering doubts. "I'm no demon, Karie." He takes a steadying breath, the fingers of his hand against my arm feathering up to my shoulder and bringing him closer to me with the movement, "Would a demon know that the first night you'd slept beside me, you'd held my arm and pillowed your head atop of it for the entire night?" He allows a slight smile to tug at his lips, "Or that when we'd first kissed you had blood smeared across your forehead in the shape of the northern star?" His smile grows, "Or that every time we pass a rose bush your eyes lose focus and I know you to be thinking of the home you'd left behind?"

" _Stop it_ ," I whisper suddenly, urgently, with a suffocating fear at allowing him to see just how vulnerable I am, and at just how attached I've become. I take a single step back from him and see pain flash through his eyes again. "You'd also know that I've _hurt_ people. That I-I can't control myself. That I'm dangerous. That I don't deserve kindness. That I'm-"

"A monster?" He interrupts and asks with a harsh frown marring his features. " _You're not_ ," he says quickly with more determination held in his tone than there is in my _entire_ being. "A monster would not care as you do. A monster would not protect as you do. A monster would not _love_ as you do." He reaches one hand out towards me imploringly, allowing me the choice in taking it. "A monster would not desire _that_ future as you do," he finishes much more quietly than he had spoken just before, and he continues in the same soft tones,

"Please Karie, dearest, allow me the opportunity to show you just how possible attaining that peace is. _That_ is what we fight for - we battle to allow as many people that future, that chance at contentment." He takes a half-step closer with his hand still outstretched, "And you are deserving of kindness, and I deserve the choice in sharing that with you." His hand is right before me now with his eyes locked with mine, and I just don't know what to say. He's apparently _such_ a romantic, a damned stubborn and determined one. "I have made that choice. I haven't lost sight of that, and I don't think I ever could. Not now."

I'm there just... staring at his hand for a long while in indecision. He tells me that I'm _not_ a monster, but I don't know if I can believe that. He seems so resolute in all his convictions though. He's certain of himself in pursuing me, despite the fact that I've been desperately trying to push him away for his sake. Just because we both desire the same thing, a peaceful future with one another in it, doesn't mean that trying to attain that is the best decision. Trying for that future, hoping for it, doesn't change the fact that I'm riddled with blood magic from head-to-toe, or even the fact that I _kill_ by instinct. How could I possibly be entitled to a modicum of happiness if that's true? He still has the possibility of finding peace elsewhere. He doesn't have to be with me, nor I him... But a part of me, larger than I'd first expect, honestly wants to share in his kindness and relish in his infallible loyalty, and, above all, have the faith that I won't harm him. I desire to be able to have my care for him be reciprocated without fear of pain and anguish, but another part, the realist or maybe the narcissist in me tells me not to believe that.

I've seen what I've done, and I know what I can do to him. The pain of me pushing him away cannot possibly be as terrible as the pain I can cause him if I turn on him in battle, or if I lose control of myself due to the disconnect between my mind and body.

But I'm selfish - I'm selfish in wanting that to not be true and in wanting the opposite.

My fingers twitch against my side just itching to reach out and take his hand in a symbol of accepting what he's offering, of allowing him what he too wants, and surrendering myself to him and the promise of a future. But I hesitate. I just couldn't live with myself if I hurt him.

"By _Mythal_ , lethallan, you are more stubborn than a da'len on the best of days." I look up and past Sloane to see Aereweld with her arms crossed over her chest and her lips pulled thin beneath the shadow of her deep cloak's hood. I'd nearly forgotten she was there. "Na lath. Dirthara ma, ashi na vehenan'ara. Emma sulevin."

I feel heat crawl up my neck to my cheeks at her bluntly spoken words. She had blatantly said she was certain I loved him and that I desire him. " _Aereweld_ ," I gasp shocked, "Sloane knows some elvish."

She laughs openly and cheerfully. "Good," she smiles a wide smile. "Show him the truth of my words then, ma'falon, for you know I speak the truth. I know you as well as myself, and I can see you breaking. Break, and spare me the trouble of pushing you."

"You wouldn't," I retort quickly. She only shrugs in response, and then I'm left to gaze down at Sloane's outstretched hand again as indecision fills me with renewed anxiety and nerves. One would think that such a decision should be easy, simple really, especially given all we've said and done. I had let myself be swept up in him until now, consequences be damned. But I've _seen_ what I do now with a clarity I was never afforded before, and that brings about the knowledge of what I could do to him - how I can cause him pain, kill him even. It shows me just how dangerous I am, and just how unpredictable. Could he handle that? Could I allow myself to tarnish his goodness with the evil embedded in me? Could I give myself to the hope that I'm better than what the cultist blood mages intended me to be?

Maybe by allowing myself to have that fear, the fear of hurting others, is allowing the blood mages to still have a hold over me even in their death, much like how that spirit of desire had a hold over me moments before. I shouldn't let dead men have such sway over me, just as much as it sickens me to have been a subject of that spirit's games. I'm not what the cultists' wanted, close, but I'm not. I have retained my mind, my sense of self, and I've used it to help in this Blight. I hadn't used my knowledge of this world, of the events that will and have transpired, to protect those cultists from the Archdemon as they'd so desperately wanted. I wasn't really in a state to do so at the time, having still been under the influence of their latest treatment of blood magic, but I had enough good sense to trust Sloane and follow him the hell out of that cabin. Maybe that shows that I'm different - that a different fate is meant for me than a path where the blood magic in my skin has such authority over my choices.

I could shake off the metaphorical shackles of the blood magic in my skin by accepting Sloane's offer. I could, for the first time since I've been in Thedas, liberate myself from the dark path I was destined for by embracing this promise of peace that I could have with him. I could care for him and not be afraid. That's a beautiful, liberating thought. And I _want_ that, more than anything.

I feel my heart quicken at the realization that I can accept that. I _can_ accept that and not be afraid.

I strip the glove off my opposite hand and stuff it into my belt beside the other before curling my hands together. I take in the sight of the fine tendrils of dark magic snaking along like twisted red vines over every inch of my skin with a heavy sigh leaving my lips. Maybe if I didn't have them, the dark magic, then I could've accepted this sooner. And maybe I would've been dead. They have saved me countless times, I'm sure, and in a way they have afforded me this opportunity. There's always a catch though, and with this one there's the threat of hurting someone. Killing someone. But I can have the faith that I won't, and not allow that fear to rule over me.

I can accept me for _me_.

I have in other aspects of my life, and this shouldn't be any different. More difficult, but I realize it's still something I have to come to terms with if I want to truly _live_ my life versus simply _surviving_ through it. And I realize that I do. I desperately wish to be able to recognize myself again and feel as though I'm actually living. I haven't truly felt like myself since I've been in Thedas. Given the Blight though and everything else, it's easy to see how I could've misplaced my sense of self in the middle of it.

Right now though... I know what I want, and I can allow another to have what they desire in turn by going for it. No looking back. _Here's to living_ , I tell myself with a steadying breath filling my lungs.

I reach out with both hands to curl one over Sloane's palm and the other to cup the back of his outstretched hand while I concurrently struggle to push aside my lingering doubts. I look up to his eyes to see his expression so conflicted with hope waring with disbelief openly. It looks as though he _wants_ that hope, but is afraid to embrace it. I have the pressing thought of reassuring him, and so I nod once slowly. "I wanna believe I'm not a monster," I tell him quietly with my tone wavering in the threat of hesitance and all my fears resurfacing.

"I wanna _live_ ," I confess after a moment. And I don't mean live like I've been doing, before I realized how terrible I was, when I'd been desperate to take anything given to me without thought for consequence. Before, all I'd wanted was to feel connected, grounded. I'd eagerly basked in Sloane's attention, because he made me feel so less alone. And that's true to an extent still, but it's so much more than that now. I _know_ it is. There's a great deal more at play between the two of us than what I'd taken at face value before. I walk a step closer with a renewed clarity of mind, and bump our joined hands against the armor at his chest in the process. "And I believe in _you_."

His expression eases back into one resembling joy, but there's still something dark slithering behind his gaze threatening to crush the happiness bubbling up in him. "Do you truly mean that? And you're not just saying this because of," he nods his head in Aereweld's direction, "what your friend has said?"

I shake my head as soon as those worrisome questions have passed his lips. "Not because of what she said, it's because of what you said." I smile softly at the thought, but it vanishes just as quickly as it came about. I breathe out something terribly honest, damaging as it's been poisoning my thoughts and I'm _still_ fighting with myself to push aside, "I don't want to be afraid anymore," and there's the unspoken _of the Blight, of the blood magic in me, of hurting you_ , "and I think... I think I don't have to be. And I think I can show you that I'm not."

That furious expression he had worn while slaying that doppelganger of a spirit is a distant memory in face of the breathtaking expression brightening his features now. There are too many emotions flitting in his eyes and tugging at the corners of his mouth for me to be able to place a name to any single one at the forefront of his thoughts, but, for me, I can't help but curse myself for denying him these feelings until this point, and for denying myself the opportunity to share in them. That fear of allowing my nature to define me still has a cold grip around my heart, but it has been thawed by the fire in his eyes. A flame lit for me, and only me it seems. He moves his other hand to turn both of mine in his, and then brings my hands to his face where he lays a gentle kiss to the backs of my knuckles. Chivalry. I've never been the recipient of that before.

Feeling emboldened to show him the truth of my words, and to physically reassure myself of their honesty, I move my hands to his shoulders before placing a quick peck of my lips to the corner of his mouth. I feel the breath of the soft, relieved, chuckle that leaves him before he turns his head and meets his lips to mine. The warmth I feel with the sensation melts the last bits of fear clinging to me, and the freedom of abandoning those fears once and for all causes a few tears to escape past my lashes.

Sloane pulls back rubbing a thumb through their wet tracks with a concerned look creeping back into his expression, but I shake my head in an effort to dispel his worries. "I'm just not used to this," I explain shakily with my voice cracking on every word. "I've been so scared for a long time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to credit the 'living' versus 'surviving' ideas I'd played with here to the Walking Dead fic 'Settling, Surviving, Thriving, Living' by Patience Tyme1on FF. It's where I'd first encountered an exploration of the distinctions between the two, and it influenced a lot of the conversation in this chapter. You readers are the best! And happy holidays to you all! Belated and whatnot. ;)
> 
> Translations:
> 
> da'len: child
> 
> lethallan: cousin/clansmate
> 
> ma'falon: my friend
> 
> Na lath. Dirthara ma, ashi na vehenan'ara. Emma Sulevin.: He has your love. May you learn, the man is your heart's desire. I am certain.


	48. Chapter 48

_"I'm just not used to this... I've been so scared for a long time."_

* * *

Sloane wipes the tears from my cheeks with both his thumbs, cupping my face and looking at me with a myriad of unvoiced emotions that wrinkle his face and make him look older than he is. I can't help the soft smile that curls my lips at his open, honest concern. I cause him so much worry, and I regret that I've added to the burdens already laden upon his shoulders. _No more_ , I dare promise myself. I don't want to hurt him, and the fact that I've blinded myself to the severity of the emotional pain I've caused him in my feeble effort to prevent him any physical harm shows just how unsuccessful I've been in my attempts to protect him. Some protector I am, but... maybe I can work on that and spare Sloane the trouble of protecting us both.

An unnatural wind blows past and ruffles my hair, and reminds me that we're still very much in the Beyond and separated from our companions. We haven't the time to dawdle with our own problems any more. If more conversation is needed to further settle the to the tumultuous accord we've gotten here, it'll have to wait. "We should... we have to go," I start and begin to pull away from Sloane knowing well enough that Aereweld can find the others here and take us to them.

"Wait, Karie," Sloane stops me from moving away by bringing his hands to my shoulders to hold me in a firm, but gentle grasp. "You had said you were frightened," he says with his eyes boring into my own. "What do you mean by that? What... are you afraid of?" he asks with uncertainty leaking into his tone.

Why would he ask that? He doesn't... doesn't think I'm afraid of _him_ , does he? I shake my head at suddenly losing the ability to voice just that and being shocked silent that he could possibly think such a thing, if that is in fact what he means. If anyone here should be afraid of the other, it should be him of _me_ and not the other way around. Did he forget that we'd just agreed that we'd both desired to be with the other? If I want to be with him, I wouldn't be afraid of him.

"Please, tell me," he asks roughly when my head shaking doesn't prove to be answer enough for him.

I look away from him and consciously try to work up the courage to put voice to my fears, and in turn assuage his own. "I've been... afraid of the Blight," I whisper with my eyes focused on the battered leather on Sloane's chestplate with my timidity preventing me from meeting his gaze. I have to tell him though, it's only fair. "I-I don't know if I'll live through it. _I_ wasn't in the story I know of here." I think on that every so often, and I have thought on it with increasing frequency since I'd come to learn Thedas is real and I'm really in it. My own survival is, of course, a great concern of mine.

"And what of me?" I look up at him at his question, and I see _him_ now look away from _me_ rather quickly. "Don't answer that. I honestly don't wish to know." My heart clenches painfully at the slight turn in conversation. I know how to save him. Damn Morrigan and it all, but I know how to keep both Sloane and Alistair alive at the end. And even Liana, if she's to undergo the Joining before that final battle with the Archdemon. But, this isn't the time nor the place to be thinking on that now. Sloane doesn't want to know, and I'll not tell him. At least, not yet. There will be time enough to concern ourselves with that when the time comes.

Instead, I bring one of my hands up to rest against his on my shoulder. I say not that I know of a questionable ritual involving one Witch of the Wilds that will spare all Grey Wardens who make it to the end, and instead I utter a few words that surprise even me with their wisdom, "We want a future together, and I have faith that we will both live after the Blight. I'm not afraid. Not any more. With you, I'm not afraid." And it's truer than most things I would dare admit. I _was_ afraid of the Blight, but I feel that fear dissipate in face of the strong desire to _live_ , and to live a life with Sloane very much a part of it. That desire surprises me with it's strength, but I have absolutely no wish to have that fear in its stead.

I take a steadying breath and continue to speak with a bravery I don't feel completely, but I hold Sloane's gaze when it returns to me and betray that weakness clawing at me by keeping my eyes to his. "I'm... afraid of blood magic," and once I've spoken I quickly work to amend that statement and clarify what I truly mean. "Not blood mages, but blood _magic._ The stuff _in_ me. I can't... it's hard to control." _That's_ the understatement of the century.

I look away from him again, and speak softer while I try to hold onto the fraying edges of my resolve and put my thoughts in order. "And, I'm... afraid of hurting you. I... hurt Alistair, but I - I _can't_ hurt you. If I..." I trail off and close my eyes while internally cursing my stumbling tongue. "I can hurt you. I know I can. But, I can try not to. I can be... cautious and not fearful... I think."

"I don't believe you would ever intentionally harm me, Karie," I hear him say and I slowly lift my eyes to his at those solemnly said words. "And," he takes a quick breath, "I agree. We should believe in our own survival, for if we fail, no one will survive."

I smile and tighten my hold on his hand. "No," I correctly gently and notice a quick flash of confusion cross his eyes before I continue. "We should believe that we will _live_ , and not just... go through the motions and survive. Living is different. Living is _feeling_ and not being afraid."

"I stand corrected," he smiles warmly. "You also shouldn't concern yourself overmuch with your reaver talents. There are masters of this art throughout Thedas, and _I_ hold the faith that you can master what has been thrust upon you. You need only time and practice. Although I understand this, warfare, is still very new for you. Have patience, dearest, and I will do what I can to aid you. Whatever you need, you need only to ask and I shall do what I can."

My hand tightens around his even more, "You've already done a lot." And that's another severe understatement on my part. He's done more for me and my predicament than I would expect anyone to do. The pure amount of patience he must possess in order to have put up with my shit, and still have the confidence that I would've pulled through and retaken my place by his side as more than a guide, is incredible. He sacrifices even his own momentary happiness to work towards bringing us _both_ peace in the long run, and by doing so risks himself even greater pain rather than any kind of gratification he could find elsewhere. He trusts too much, and puts the welfare of others before his own. That self-sacrificing nature of his combined with his infallible loyalty makes him trustworthy to a fault, and makes my own heart ache for him. I don't think I could return the same affections in the same way, but I will promise myself to _try_ to give him the attention and respect he deserves, in the least.

Reality falls heavily upon my mind once it clears of those wayward thoughts, and I give voice to a reminder of what still yet needs to be done. To stay here, like this, would be amazing, but we aren't afforded that luxury. "We need to find the others," I breathe and feel my face scrunch at the turn in thought and conversation. "We need to help them - get them outta here." I look over Sloane's shoulder towards the woman who's been rather quiet through the majority of our discussion. "Aereweld?"

"I have already begun, ma'falonen." I spy her hands aglow with purple magic and a swirling purple oval expanding to the size of a portal before her outstretched hands a few paces away. She turns her head over her shoulder before continuing. "I have sensed another, a companion of your perhaps, that has already freed themselves of their trappings, but they are sequestered to their plane with the inability to bend the Beyond to their will." She turns her head back towards the portal. "We shall start there."

I narrow my eyes in thought on who she may be referring to, and take a step in her direction while unconsciously keeping a hold of Sloane's hand. I only notice that I've kept my hand in his when he threads our fingers together and sends a pleased half-smile my way. I feel heat crawl up my neck just slightly at the rather casual way familiarity between ourselves eases back in even the most subtle of ways. I keep my attention trained on Aereweld though, and resolve not to pay these little affections too much attention. "It could be... Sten or Morrigan. Maybe even Jowan, Amell or Liana," I add after a second's thought. Those three Circle mages were never involved like this here in the game, and I fleetingly realize that I don't know their true part in the Blight, like I do the others, now that their paths have been altered. Their futures are as uncertain as my own, and that's sobering to find that I'm not alone in that regard.

"It matters not," Aereweld comments as we approach her and the portal she's just created. "Come, falonen."

We cross through the portal rather quickly, and it's just as bizarre feeling as the last such portal I'd passed through. I feel sick to my stomach at the smothering sensations of magic, and see spots before my eyes as the surge of sensation passes completely through me. It's not as bad as the last time I'd traveled in such a way, back at Redcliffe, but it's no picnic either. I'm not crumpled to the floor and struggling for breath, but I feel more than a little lightheaded and sick.

Once the haze of magic and undulating of the Beyond settles, we find ourselves in a plane of the Beyond that has taken on the appearance of a room that looks an awful lot like the Circle's Chapel. However, instead of frightened mages packed in along the pews, there's slain bodies slathered in gore and blood scattered along the majority of the wooden benches and floor. Some of the fallen are spirit in form, others are half-transformed twisted bodies of dark abominations, and there's also several corpses more bone than flesh littered about. At the room's back, near the alter created for Andraste, I spy the green robbed scrawny back of Amell. He's turned away from us and appears to be trying to hurl bits of rock at the wall in an effort to break the illusion surrounding him. He must know this isn't real, since Aereweld had said he was free of the ill spirits trying to subdue him.

"Enchanter?" Sloane calls, and Amell turns around so quickly that he stumbles over his own two feet.

After righting himself rather ungraciously, he holds his staff defensively across himself with an icy glare pointed our way. We step closer, and the glare noticeably softens. "Finally, some people who don't reek of demon piss and shite." I shouldn't be surprised that Amell is the one who has freed himself of temptation, given that he's a Harrowed mage and, possibly in another life, could've very well been in Sloane's place leading the effort against the Blight. But I am a slight bit shocked all the same. "Who the Blight is that?" He asks and deters my thoughts any further. I see him gesturing wildly in Aereweld's direction, and so I venture to speak up on her behalf,

"She's Aereweld Ayuhni Ghilan'nainlen Dar'uthenera of the Brecilian wood - my mentor, teacher, and friend. She's uthenera," I elaborate at Amell's rapid blinking, and then I decide to explain further when it doesn't seem to be enough. "Her body's dead, but her spirit's still alive. She's trapped here. She can't pass on in death." I take a short breath before explaining Aereweld's presence further. "She's also an Arcane Warrior of old, and can travel between planes of the Beyond at will."

"In-ter-est-ing," he drawls with a tilt of his head and a scrape at his beard with his free hand. "If I hazarded to believe that, little lady, it would explain how you lot ended up here while I've had piss poor luck finding a way out of this hole."

"I was only freed with her aid," Sloane interjects with a nod of his head in Aereweld's direction, "She's an asset and trustworthy, I assure you."

"Riiight. A mage's ghost with somniari abilities just happened to be passing by this little corner of the Fade we're trapped in. A wonderful coincidence, apparently," he mutters sarcastically with a roll of his eyes.

"I am as they have said," Aereweld sniffles while she speaks up for the first time since we've arrived here. "I had promised emma lethallan to keep watch over her companions while in the Beyond in return for her honoring my legacy. Fear not, shemlen. I will see you all free."

"Great. You're all bonkers," he mumbles while scrubbing at his face. "Let's just get out of here, yeah? Believe it or not, but these demons smell worse when they're dead."

"You'll follow us so easily?" Sloane asks incredulously with a raised brow and an amused tilt to his lips.

"Yeah, why not?" Amell asks with a shrug of his shoulders. "You lot may be mad, but at least my head's still attached to my shoulders. When this ghost decides to be less helpful and turns flighty, I'll at least be out of this hole of a Chapel. Isn't like I have much of a choice, now do I Warden-Commander?"

"How do you know we're truly ourselves?" Sloane asks curiously. "It took a bit of effort before I was certain of this myself," he admits while gesturing towards himself with his free hand.

"I'm a _mage_ , ser. I'd be a poor Enchanter if I couldn't see the difference between a person's spirit and a demon," he snorts. "Right. Somniari-ghost though, that's on you."

Aereweld barks a laugh at Amell's expense before summoning her magic around her raised hands and speaking next, "There is another trapped nearby. Prepare yourselves, there are ill spirits afoot."

The nausea I feel reaches an all time high by the time we pass through yet another of Aereweld's portals and into another plane of the Beyond. When clarity of sight returns to me, I see that we've been immediately set upon by abominations and sickening reanimated corpses of rotting flesh and bone. Beneath the inhuman screech of the creatures charging at us, I note a high-pitched feminine shriek. That sound... that must be of the person who's imprisoned here. The creatures, though varying in appearance, all sound the same. Before I can get my focus back on track on my own, Amell constructs a wall of stone that blocks the charge and in turn brings me back to the present with the deafening crunching sound of faux stone snapping into place. I'm struggling with myself to push aside the uncomfortable feelings still running through me due to the instability of the Beyond and the unfamiliarity of experiencing Aereweld's magic, while I grip the pommels of my weapons and take a step back to let those more capable, and more comfortable with battle, to have the opportunity to dispose of the Beyond-born creatures attacking us in force.

I watch with my heart lodged in my throat and the bottom of my stomach at the floor while Sloane shatters those skeletons and monstrous creatures held immobile by Amell's spell with quick slashes of his twin daggers, the movements being far too quick for me to catch them all. I only see the rain of stone-encased bone and gristle as it falls and disappears into the thin supernatural air after he's attacked. Aereweld in turn reaches out with her enchanted sword in-hand and sends a blast of mage-fire to incinerate the remaining creatures to ash and lighting the dark area with the flame. The place this plane has taken on the appearance of looks like an odd mixture of a dead forest and a dungeon. There's cells lining either side of the area before us, though they have no roofs and there's leafless trees reaching out to the starless sky.

The battle is over before it's hardly begun, and I'm incredibly relieved to have not needed to draw my sword. It's... far too soon from the last time I'd done so, and I have no wish to experience what I had against those thralls and walking skeletons summoned by that white-haired mage any time soon. We're in the Beyond though, and I know well enough that these creatures, the evil ones doing this, must be killed in order for us all to be free, but I still don't relish the idea of putting my blade to them. I'll get over it though, or at least I have the hope that I will. I'm not naive enough to believe that I can drop the sword once and for all and survive. If I want to live, and work keep what I'd said to Sloane as truth, I'll have to fight sooner or later. There's no other way around it. Not in this world. Not in Ferelden with the Blight and a land full of desperate people and no ruler keeping order... Darkspawn, abominations, bandits...

"Blasted biscuits!" I hear Amell curse, and I follow the direction of his gaze to see a shadowy figure curled on the darkened floor in a fetal position sobbing and filling the air with the sound of their cries. " _Liana?!_ It's safe! The demons... they're dead."

"No..." She whimpers by way of answer. "No more, _bitte_. Nicht mehr."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> ma'falonen: my friends
> 
> falonen: friends
> 
> Aereweld Ayuhni Ghilan'nainlen Dar'uthenera: Aereweld Ayuhni child of Ghilan'nain, the Halla-mother, and one of the immortals.
> 
> uthenera: immortal
> 
> emma lethallan: my cousin/clansmate
> 
> shemlen: quick-children - elvish word for humans
> 
> bitte (German being used here as an equivalent for Nevarran): please
> 
> Nicht mehr: No more


	49. Chapter 49

_"The demons... They're dead."_

* * *

"Liana," Amell sighs her name while he smooths his thick robes, disheveled from this last battle, with one slender hand making quick work of the fabric's wrinkles. After shaking his head at some internal thought, he walks towards the blood mage's crumpled form on this newest illusion's semi-transparent floor. He kneels beside her, and I feel myself drawn towards them as my concern for the poor woman spikes in an all time high. My feet have carried me beside them while that concern only buds into full blown worry as Liana's continuous and utterly miserable cries fill the unnatural air. She's been nothing but sweet since the moment I've met her, and here, in this damned place filled to the brim with ill spirits, she was terrorized by her darkest nightmares and is now left completely immobile because of it. She was unfortunate enough to have spirits embodying darker feelings than desire trapping her in her illusion, and so she wasn't surrounded by lighter prospects, like me and Sloane were. She was tormented. _Is_ tormented. The poor thing.

"Concentrate," Amell suggests softly with a frown etched deeply on his scruffy features. "We're in the Fade, Liana. Think of your thrice blasted Harrowing, and what you learned there."

"My... Harrowing?" The kindly blood mage gasps out in a voice much too strained. She then lifts her head enough to blink up at Amell, with her long hair askew and a sudden look of concentration lining her face. A moment passes before she sighs wearily. "Oh, kittens and cream... I cannot believe I forgot my lessons." She sniffles, loudly, and struggles into a sitting position before swiping a weary hand across her eyes. "This... this is a forced dream. _That must be it_ ," she finishes softly and in a tone meant mostly for herself.

She blinks again after a long, long moment of uncomfortable silence and flits her eyes about at the rest of our party, now mostly visible in the dark of this place with Amell's mage-light increasing in intensity and chasing the lingering shadows away. Her steely-colored eyes do a double-take when she notices me. "Best friend!" She shouts and scrambles to her feet before wrapping her arms around me in a smothering hug. I tense beneath her arms though. I _was not_ expecting that."You yet live," she mumbles into the top of my head seemingly oblivious to my discomfort. "The Fade is dangerous for mundanes. I _do_ remember that."

I feel myself smiling at her, despite the gravity of the situation we're in and my lingering disquiet, before I curl my hands over the sharp jut of her shoulders in an effort to calm her and return a bit of her unrestrained joy. I try to relax in her grasp, and I try my best to be the voice of reason too. If her dream was any clue, the others could be experiencing illusions just as terrible, or maybe even more so. "We're trying to get outta here," I tell her, "Everyone else is trapped here too."

"Then we will!" She says in a tone much brighter than the shadow of a troubled expression lingering on her face. I'm not quite sure what exactly happened to her here, I could take a pretty good guess based on the creatures that had attacked us and the way she was acting, but it certainly looks like she's far from unscathed by it all. She was stuck in a nightmare, one bad enough to turn her into a sobbing mess.

She turns about then, the movement drawing my attention to her and the present again, after releasing me with a quick squeeze. She then gives Sloane and Amell equally smothering hugs each with light words of encouragement and thanks. When she turns towards Aereweld, she stops short of the ancient elf with her hands outstretched in hesitation before too embracing her.

"Oh," she tilts her head curiously, "I am afraid I do not know you."

"I am Aereweld," shorter woman sighs in clear annoyance. It seems like she's getting tired of all the introductions.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance!" Liana declares cheerily, without further question, and embraces the woman she'd just met just as heartily as she had the rest of us.

Liana releases Aereweld before adjusting her stance to better face us all. She takes her staff in hand, lighting the top in a soft yellow glow with a click of her booted heel against the wooden haft, before speaking up again. "This dream... It is caused by that demon from before, called to form with much blood magic." She raises her bare free hand, her pale skin colored in her mage-light, and wiggles her fingers about. "I can feel it now that I know I should... This is much like the Harrowing," she nods to herself before she tilts her head in Amell's direction. "Do you know how to escape, Renzo?"

He shakes his head in the negative with his lips pursed thin, "The somniari-ghost is why we're walking about as we are," he sniffs. "If this demon is half as powerful as I think it is, it'll know we're moving about outside of our Fade dreams. But we haven't seen head nor hair of it since we've been wondering about. It must've sequestered itself, likely in an attempt to save its own damned hide. We'll have to kill it, you know, if we want any kind of escape. And I wouldn't put it past it to know we're after its blood, though. These lesser demons it's pulling out of its arse are clearly a shitty attempt at stopping us."

"Waking dreams with mundanes filled with very real demons..." Liana muses out loud. "I agree, these weaker demons are trying for power by manipulating us and feeding off of our emotions and life-essence, which must be why they are doing the others bidding so willingly," she adds with a nod of her head.

"And I take it the demon behind all of this won't be easily disposed of?" Sloane asks with a hard look and a flash of concern in his eyes.

"We must release your remaining companions," Aereweld interjects. "We will need all the strength and power we can gather to end this spirit. And I believe that by releasing the others trapped here of their illusions, and killing the spirit of sloth's thralls, we will weaken it. Perhaps even weaken it enough that putting steel to it won't be overly trying."

"Then let us go!" Liana declares before clicking her heel against her staff again and brightening her mage-light further. The amount of light produced by the two Circle mages illuminates the area enough that I can spy dark pools of viscous liquid scattered about the odd dungeon's stone floor. Liana shifts a bit, she brings the arm of her previously injured shoulder closer to her body, and the movement briefly shows a dark stain under her bicep that's the same dark color as the pools littered about the floor... Is it... Blood? Was Liana injured by the spirits in her dream?

I go to her and grasp her elbow gently while Aereweld sets to creating another portal for our use. "Liana?" I ask quietly and crane my head up to look the taller woman in the eyes, "Are you hurt?"

"My shoulder still pains me from earlier," she confesses with a small frown. "But I will not hide it from you, best friend," she lifts her arm and I see four long tears in her thin orange robes, right in the middle of a large dark stain, mostly hidden by her arm while it's lowered. "I was scratched," she explains simply.

I lever my bag off of my shoulders and slide out a thin vial of elfroot potion from inside, the blown glass being no thicker than my thumb. I know from Aereweld's decaying memories that the mind makes reality in this place. So once you see an illusion for what it is, it stops being true, but if you believe in it, believe in the life or the lack of one, then it _feels_ true. Here in the Beyond the mind knows little to no difference between reality and dream. In light of that knowledge, I hope that by Liana taking a health potion here her mind will be tricked into thinking a wound her dream-self has suffered is healed. Since, well, your dream-self can be hurt here so it would only follow that it could be healed too.

"Take this," I hold it out before her, "and be careful. I don't know what'll happen to us if we die in this place." If we die, what will happen? Will we be Tranquil? Even us non-mages?

"Our bodies would be without a soul," she explains simply while taking the vial from me. "You have my most sincere thanks."

She brushes past me with a spring in her step when Amell calls her towards Aereweld's growing portal, and as I'm watching her go, Sloane comes to stand beside me and takes my hand into his. I look up towards him after a moment, and whatever he sees on my expression makes his eyes soften while he holds my gaze. "We'll look after her," he comforts while brushing his thumb against the back of my hand. "You hold a great deal of concern for mages," he notes.

"Yeah," I agree and try to smile at him, though I don't quite feel it making its way to my face. "Not just mages though, but, yeah."

* * *

My arms are wrapped around my middle while I try to steady myself after crossing through to another plane in this bit of the Beyond. The sickly sensations are weaker with each pass through Aereweld's portals, but I still feel them through every little bit of my body, or this projection of my body at least. Trying to clear my head, I look around and take in our new surroundings with unease still trickling down my spine. This illusion we've just arrived to is nothing but rolling hills and grassy fields, and there's not a single soul in sight. No demons, no thralls or other nastiness, and there's not any one of our companions anywhere nearby. It's eerily empty in this plane.

"You're still nauseous, little lady?" I hear Amell's distinctive voice ask from just behind me, and I start a little, clenching my arms around myself tighter unconsciously.

I blink at the mage over my shoulder before nodding once while Sloane speaks up and voices what I'm sure is on all our minds. "Where are we?"

"There is a beast here," Aereweld says with one hand resting cautiously on the pommel of her enchanted sword, and starts walking through the grasses that are swaying in every direction without any kind of breeze blowing by. "We must find it. Come, falonen," she beckons with a short movement of her hand, and then we're off walking in seemingly no particular direction and with no idea of what we're to expect here. It's too quiet. Too empty. There's only grass and sky and an overwhelming feeling of being far too exposed. It makes me nervous, and it makes the little hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

"Are you not feeling well because of your condition?" Amell continues his earlier questioning while we follow after the Dalish mage and her quick strides off into the endless distance. "This lovely Fade-scape is doing a number on you, huh?"

"It's the portals," I correct with a small frown. "They don't... feel right."

"Mundanes take poorly to traveling in the Fade," he explains patiently, though, with a slight eye roll. "Mundane dreams are rather bland as compared to a mage's dream. But... you _do_ seem to be struggling exceptionally. And I honestly don't know how your condition would factor in to it, but I'd wager it'd probably be in your best interest to get out of here." He snorts. "We _all_ could do with not being here."

"That's an understatement," I grumble quietly.

"Once we're all free of here," Sloane starts so casually as if it's never crossed his mind once that we couldn't find our way out of the Beyond or kill the spirit of Sloth.

His confidence makes him a bit blind to danger sometimes, and sometimes enough that it borders on ignorance... Or, maybe, I correct myself and feel a frown pulling at my lips with the thought, he's just trying to be reassuring. If a leader, especially leading a group of people he doesn't know all too well - Aereweld, Amell, and Liana - shows any kind of weakness, or shows a lack of certainty in his chosen actions, well, that could lead to all sorts of problems. I know it's possible to get out of here. _I_ know we can, but the others, bar Aereweld and our shared memories, does not. I can't believe I misjudged him, no matter how insignificant of a slight on his character it was. _Again_. I'd thought I was over that second-guessing every little thing. I'm... I'm reading too much in my every stray thought. I need to sort myself out, and I can't do that here. Not in the Beyond where everything's sideways and there's spirits every two feet. It's not the time for this kind of crap.

Sloane slows his steps to better match ours before continuing after a breath, which in that time I'd managed to run myself in circles in my head, "How nearer will we be to defeating that Uldred fellow?"

I take his hand once he's close enough though, in an apology of sorts for the thoughts I'd had that he doesn't know of. But the fact that _I've_ initiated the small comfort shocks a pleased smile to his face while he looks towards me. "Not far," I answer. "I think you... you mentioned a mage you met earlier? Did he say he had a... litany on him?"

Sloane nods once with the shadow of that smile still playing at the corners of his mouth, "The Litany of Adralla, I believe he'd had."

"We'll need that," I say and feel my hand clench around his tighter at the brief reminder of what's to happen. On why, exactly, we'll need that litany. "Remember? I was talking to Jowan about it, it'll -"

"What's this?" Amell interrupts, "The Litany of Adralla's nearby?"

"Not _here_ , but-"

I'm interrupted again when there's a high pitched yelp of some kind in front of us. We all skitter and slide on the too slick faux grass and stop to see a barely-there shimmering pale blue wall of magic spread before us and blocking our way. As I inch closer, I'm able to spy Liana beside Aereweld practically vibrating with some unsung emotion. I turn my head up to look at her, and I see that she's _grinning._

"Look!" She practially squeaks, "There are _bunny rabbits_."

Beyond the translucent magic, there are indeed rabbits running through the long, unnatural grasses with something large chasing after them... a dog?

"Randall?" Sloane breathes. "Why would the demon trap my mabari here?"

"A life is still a life," Aereweld tells us with glowing hands alighting against the barrier's surface where the brown-furred mabari is bounding after the rabbits on the other side. "The spirit will take all it can."

"It's not a picky demon then," Amell sniffs while too steping up and poking the magic blocking us from reaching Randall, "Good to know."

"This is like the magic that had held Karie," Sloane comments with narrowed eyes and a movement of his free arm that tells me he's gripping one of his daggers. "We'll have to break it to free him."

"Wait," I say while putting my opposite hand on his shoulder in an attempt to stop him from taking another step forward when something occurs to me. "Are those rabbits... spirits? Demons?"


	50. Chapter 50

Those rabbits weren't demons, but were rather small wisps that were easily dealt with by a few zaps of electricity and a couple of swipes of blades. They're nothing but floating balls of spiritual essence that are hardly a threat but for the sting of their defensive expelled power. It doesn't hurt any worse than being stung by a wasp. But, really, that whole thing was... quite mild compared to everything else we've come by here so far. Even so... with Liana it seems like she's shying away from using her magic. Maybe she's just being cautious around some who still might harbor some ill contempt for her. I could see her worried that someone might be thinking that she'll still stab us in the back. But, I'd bet money that I don't have that it's something else. It seems like she's not even _trying_ to defend herself. Like she has a death wish. On herself.

I recognize the look on her face as one I've felt on my own, and still feel the shadows of it to some extent, but I'd even raised my sword against the wisps. I had all the nervous hesitance I've felt come back full-force, and it had threatened to overwhelm me with the feeling of the weight of my blade between my two hands, but I _still fought_. Liana's hands were white-knuckled around her staff and she was stock still with, well, maybe fear. I'd be lying if I'd said I wasn't worried for her. If she can't fight even wisps, then... we still have so much more to fight.

That's proven more true than ever once we've passed through to the next plane Aereweld's found in this... game? Nightmare? Nightmare or not, the place this plane of the Beyond is embodying would be beautiful... beautiful if it weren't tainted by slick demonic ichor splashed about, ash clogged air, and the stink of burnt flesh and charred hair. Which _that_ is a smell I'm rather disgusted to realize I'm now familiar enough with to pinpoint. There's humidity in the air too, as this plane is one full of leafy shrubbery, thick moss, and heavily vine-wrapped trees whose branches are thick and high enough to block out the sight of the sky... if there were one to be seen in this illusion.

We trudge on through the dense and battle-marred vegetation with our hands readied on weapons and a cautiousness in our steps while we're on the lookout for any enemies lurking about. My hands aren't on my weapons though. They're on my arms and briefly ghosting along my stomach while I silently wish for the biting pain and sluggish feelings of the magical flux of power alighting along my lines of dark magic and seeping into my flesh to just... go away. I'm sure I'll defend myself, here if I have to, but I need to be _ready_ to do so. Being preoccupied with nausea and a whole body-ache wouldn't be conductive to that. And this won't be the last I'll feel this way. I know more than well enough that it's not. My middle sister's mocking laughter briefly flashes through my mind. She'd have something to say about all this, I'm sure.

I growl under my breath, suddenly frustrated, but it seems that little sound's still enough to draw Sloane's attention to me. When I catch the question in his eyes, I work to clarify. "It's just... _this_ and we still have so many people to find... and then the spirit." How many times must I feel these sensations before they don't affect me any more? How many times will I struggle to fight against anything more dangerous than a floating ball of energy? How terrible will everyone's dreams be?

His lips press into a thin line, and after a moment he says, "we'll find them," with his characteristic certainty that heralds a sense of peace that tries to creep its way into my mind.

I breathe out a short breath, relishing in the chance at accepting borrowed confidence, and take a quick look at the painful evidence of a battle, or several, that've gone horribly wrong strewn about us. Whose dream could this be? "Antiva's warm, right?" I ask while running my fingertips against the charred edges of a large flat leaf that's a vibrant green beneath the ash and dust. Plant biology was never my thing, but I know enough to recognize a tropical plant when I see one. The vines too, they're more thick and smooth than the woody stranglers that could've been found on the trees just outside the cold and wind beaten city I'm from. "Seheron too. Think we'll find Zev or Sten?"

"It's possible," he agrees. "Do you recognize this place?"

"No," I shake my head. "Just looks like a... n-northern place," I stutter briefly while struggling to remember the geography of this world. Ferelden's in the south, right?

"What's that look for, dearest?" Sloane asks quietly.

I shake my head, "Just a stray thought," I smile weakly. "I live in the north back in my world, and that's colder than the south of my country. It's... different," I finish awkwardly and shake my head again. "Maybe..." I take a quick breath through my nose, still a bit unnerved from passing through the portal and coming to a scene of ash and blood, "Maybe I can try to speed this up. Try to feel for those spirits here." I've done it once, and I'm sure I could do it again. It's a skill I probably should take advantage of. I know it could give us an edge here, if not elsewhere.

Sloane nods and signals for the others to stop. I look over to Aereweld briefly when a thought occurs to me. Her abilities as a mage are different than the Circle mages', and even modern Dalish, and I know she has a way of seeing things differently in the Beyond. She knows when spirits have died, and she knew where Randall was. The Beyond is seen fluid to her, like a length of unbound silk rocking gently in a breeze, versus the static and linear view the rest of us have of this place. She's lived here so long that she can see distant planes and have brief glimpses of the inhabitants of this place, like only catching sight of the tail-end of that length of silk when the wind kicks it up enough. It lasts seconds, maybe minutes, but then the wind pushes it from sight again. Or in this case, the fluidity of the Beyond obscures what she can sense. She's not _really_ a somniari, given that she can't bend the fabric of the Beyond to her will, but she has more familiarity and control in this place than most given her training and... unique circumstances.

"If I can find the spirits here," I start while holding Aereweld's violet gaze, "could you find who's stuck here?"

Her eyes flick away briefly in thought before she meets her gaze to mine again and gives me a small nod, "I believe so, yes, lethallan."

I exhale slowly, aware of all the anticipatory gazes on me, and pinch my eyes shut while I try to focus on the ever ebbing and swelling sensations curling through the tendrils of blood magic in my skin. It's different here, since I'm _actually_ in the Beyond and not in a place where the Veil is torn or thin, and so it's more difficult for me to get a handle on _what_ I'm exactly feeling since there's just so many sensations bombarding me with each second I'm standing here. I curl my fists and try to focus my mind, and my ever wondering thoughts, on only the feeling of the dark magic I can call my own. It has it's own pulse, if that makes any sense. The network of ruddy racing lines covering me from head-to-toe resonates differently than the rush of my own blood through my veins. It's a foreign feeling I've grown accustomed to, and I'm still struggling to make sense of what they cause within me - the sluggishness, the prickling or burning pain, and the nausea it elicits in the depths of my stomach.

It's... unnatural to have blood magic laced in your skin, and I pay for it when things the magic reacts to awakens it - spirits, a thinned Veil, and battles where it acts in defense and relishes in the chance to cause mayhem. It's its own being within me - the combined life essences of a dozen people or more tainted by darkness and wrought to give me power. Realizing this, _knowing_ this, _living_ this, I calm myself in an effort to focus on the peculiar reaction to spirits the magic causes within me.

I blink my eyes open after a moment, and point hesitantly in the direction I can feel a greater pooling in my lines that signifies the presence of the denizens of this place. Aereweld turns in this direction with a flutter of her dark cloak and a flash of her green armor in the dim light, and then she raises two softly glowing hands. She closes them with a sharp sound and a nod of her head as she turns back around.

"We should alter our course," she says simply and heads off in that direction.

It's not too far off from the way we were walking, Aereweld must've had a clue which way we should go, and I smile a bit to myself with a small amount of happiness that I was able to _help_. I can help. I can use these lines differently than what they were intended for, and I don't have to be _afraid_ of them to do so.

I just have to keep reminding myself of that.

After some more walking and hedging our way through more destroyed vegetation, I look towards Sloane and curl one hand gently around his elbow, and slowly slide that hand down to meet his palm with mine. My sister, I hear her laugh again. I've always been more affectionate with those I knew or trusted, okay... I'm usually the friendly sort, if I go about it awkwardly most of the time. But here, with Sloane, I know my sister would tease me, and maybe even the both of them.

The twins were always more clever with words than me and quicker to come up with some witty one-liner that would leave me open-mouthed or laughing. Kailah was worse than her younger twin Kayleigh, with Lah being more blunt and crass and not one to shy from some crude sex joke, or two. She would say something if she saw me, I know she would. I could see her expression too - that short bob of 'elmo-red' hair, her brown roots coming in, frizzy and unkempt as the side of her pierced nose pinches with the pleased smirk her thin lips often wore when she felt she was being particularly clever.

The twins didn't like being compared to each other, but they had shared... _do_ share similar traits and taste. One had dyed her hair an obnoxious shade of red and cut her hair to her ears, and the other preferred her hair long to her waist but with more than half of it dyed a deep blue. Both their faces were pierced multiple times, _different_ piercings, of course, but similar in their affinity for all things obnoxious and shiny. They wanted to look different, to be distinct from each other despite the fact they _are_ technically fraternal, but they're still so similar.

I miss them. God, I do.

"You alright, Karie?" Sloane asks me with a concerned tilt to his brow.

I swipe a free hand over my face and try to smile at him reassuringly, again. "Just thinking about my sisters," I answer honestly.

Is anyone else as distracted as me? I'm known to have the stray internal monologue or two, but this is off track and excessive, even for me. Wait... Maybe I'm not _thinking_ I'm hearing my sister's laughter, maybe it's this place toying with me. I wouldn't put it past the angry and vengeful spirits here to plague us, unknowingly, as we travel around and release our companions in a bid for freedom for us all from this place. I should try to be cautious about that though, just in case. I'm not exactly sure how I _can_ prevent their influences, if there are, but I'm going to try and pay more attention outside of my thoughts.

I look up towards Sloane again and meet his gaze as I voice my concerns, "I think the spirits are still playin' with our minds." I frown a bit before continuing, "I'm not sure, but... I'm _really_ distracted."

His lips thin and he answers quickly, "I'm not having any difficulty staying focused. Do you think," he gestures with his free hand in the direction of the length of my body with a downwards swipe through the air, "it could be due to your... markings?"

"Hm," I hum briefly in thought. The blood magic in me can divert my consciousness, so could it also divert my waking thoughts? The lines of them are more active here than outside of the Beyond, true, but... the ring sitting on my thumb, I know it helps with clarity... "I'm not sure," I answer honestly.

"We'll be free of the Fade soon," he tries to reassure.

I know we can get out of here - it's only a matter of time, but how much? And how will that time affect us? Mages are accustomed to this place, but 'mundanes' as Amell had said, aren't supposed to be this active in the Beyond. And I have a strange connection to it, or lack of one, being that I'm from a whole other world and... everything else. How's that work for the people that can't even _feel_ this place, like Sloane? Is he at some different risk than the rest of us? Are the dangers for each of us unique?

"I don't like being here," I say. "There's too many-" I'm cut off when something runs through the clearing we've found ourselves in too quick to make out. "Did you see that?" I spit out quickly instead and point in the disappearing shadow's direction.

" _That_ was a companion of yours," Aereweld says and draws her blade before dashing in the retreating figure's direction. One of our friends, and she has her sword ready. Probably because the shadow's moving _towards_ the spirits I had felt earlier. Does that person know they're running straight into danger?

"Great," Amell grumbles, "I'm going to trip on a root and break my neck." He shakes his head and motions for the rest of us to follow. "We can't let her have all the glory. Let's get a move on, shall we?"


	51. Chapter 51

_Does that person know they're running straight into danger?_

* * *

Sloane signals to his mabari to follow after the others before he dips down enough to grab a hold of my hand and drag me through the dense vegetation after Amell and Aereweld with Liana at our backs. He runs so quickly that I stumble quite a few times until I swing myself around to his back and release his hand in favor of holding on to the collared edge of his worn leather armor. The soot coating everything and the ash hanging in the air thickens enough to make it difficult to breathe the further we run, or perhaps that's just from all the damned _running_ itself. I wasn't in such a poor state before... before the last time I was in the world I used to call home, but the blood mage's treatment was unkind – it left me half-starved and weak without the blood magic coursing through my skin. Fighting darkspawn and bandits and everything else hasn't been too conductive to getting better, and I often feel I can't keep up with everyone else – when I'm just _me_ and not the reaver the cultists made me out to be. The blood magic gives me a strength and stamina I wouldn't have otherwise. And I'm too cautious to rely on it right now.

I hear a guttural scream coming from the other side of a curtain of thick hanging vines, and I release Sloane with my heart in my throat and a barrage of terrible scenarios rampaging through my skull. I scurry past him in fear for whoever had screamed – it sounded male. Amell? Did that gangly mage get hurt? – and I push through the plant life to see someone being pinned down by one large clawed hand of a spirit corrupted by mortal pride. That person has a shock of silvery-white hair hanging in heavy, uneven dredlocks and skin a rosy-tinted bronze. That's _Sten_.

I'm not given more than a chance to take in Sten's struggling form before something cold lances against my side – cold enough to chill and blister the skin on my ribs and hip beneath my armor. I cry out in pain, the sound little more than a shocked exhale of breath drawn in pitch due to clawing fear, and I turn to find my panic matched in surprise as I gaze upon a heavily cloaked figure dusted in ice, clothes tattered and limbs too large and malformed for it to be human.

"So tired, so sad..." It drawls in an uneven voice, deep and raspy with an unnatural edge, "Full of shame, grief... Ah, grief. So fresh within you. Battered hope, yes, fear of failure. Despair at injustice. You mourn. You fight. You yearn for what you cannot attain. For what you have lost." It approaches without its feet touching the ground, one battered hand outstretched towards me allowing a hint of gleaming white, large canines beneath it's cloaked hood to show at the movement. I'm frozen from fear on the spot, breath caught in my throat. Why can't I move? Why is it so _cold_? "Your hope is a tattered, fragile thing. It smells... _divine_."

One long, broken nail touches my cheek and a hiss of breath leaves my lungs with a rush of pain and power that flows through me like a dam being burst open. The blood magic ripples through me freely, lighting up my skin and seeping into my every pore and every nerve The unnatural power overwhelms me and an answering searing pain pulses against my ring-adorned thumb with an intensity that threatens to cramp the muscles along that entire limb. My vision clears from a haze of red fog, and I see my hands wrapped tightly around a too thin neck supporting a head of large rodent teeth and tiny blackened eyes. The creature's hood has blown back and its two large hands have wrapped themselves around my wrists. Frost is racing up my arms at an alarming rate as my fingers ply more pressure against the demonic creature's windpipe.

Visions flash through my mind's eye – my sisters and parents huddled together with tear-stained faces, wounded and sickly Dalish elves pressed around a waning fire, blood gushing from a bandit's chest while he takes his last breaths with a rusty sword still clutched in his trembling fist, Blight-tained wolves whimpering in pain with death clouding their canine eyes, a blond-haired boy with a demonic light creasing his youthful face, a shade's claws reaching for Sloane struggling to stand on two feet with blackness coating his daggers, children in heavy robes dusted with ash hiding between broken wooden pews with fear painted bright on their round little faces – and I yell out a strangled sound of anguish.

" _What are you_?" I scream at the creature while the red of my blood magic powers my reaver talent of draining the life giving essence from this creature, this spirit. It's pain is my power and fuels my strength in face of the ice burning my skin and weighing down my limbs like lead.

All thoughts of avoiding battle, of tempering my rage, and of keeping from tapping into this dark well of power are gone at the sight of that corrupted spirit's unnatural smile tinged with a dark edge and a promise of pain and suffering. "I am your lost hope turned bitter and spoiled," it wheezes out around choked breath. "I am your nightmare. I am Despair."

Its inhuman face begins to crack and crumble with large pieces of flesh falling and oozing demonic ichor around my still glowing hands. Its neck, smaller than the span of my two palms, collapses to dust between my fingers as a blast of ice licks up my body on the wake of the creature's last breath. Shuttering, and feeling like thousands of needles are stabbing into my flesh, I fall to my knees beside the spirit's body that's now fading into the ether of the Beyond. Shivers wrack my body and I struggle to breathe while my hands clench into trembling fists. I'm so _cold_. I'm so cold and I can still see the faces of those I've failed, of those whose loss I grieve, still playing in my mind's eye on an endless loop.

" _Stop it_ ," I whisper under my breath and bring my shaking hands to tangle in my hair while the tendrils of blood magic in my skin work to thaw me from the spirit's magic. I see my sisters again – their smiles pained and hurt instead of happy and sly.

Someone's nudging my shoulder with a cautious hand, " _Little lady_ ," the voice says urgently. I blink through the cold and pain to see blackened ash smeared across a bearded face – Amell? "We can't stop the pride demon. We need your help." He nudges me again, "Get _up_."

I struggle to my feet while his words click in my mind. I turn as quickly as I can to see Sten, doubled over but still standing, Sloane with his daggers buried beneath the spirit's kneecap with Randall beside him nipping at the thing's heels, Aereweld with her sword alight with spirit energy batting away the spirit's meaty hands, and Liana – she's actually launching bolts of arcane energy from the tree-line at the pride corrupted creature's chest. If she's put aside her fear for this, it must be bad.

I fumble to pull my sword from its scabbard with my hands still numb from ice and panic, and Amell lifts the faux earth of the Beyond to coat my armor in splotches of stone like he did shortly after we first met. "If you can take on a Despair demon single-handedly," he tells me, "then you go and pulverize that Pride bastard." He smiles, clasps me on the shoulder and says, "I'll watch your back."

He raises his staff and electricity launches out in a great arc towards the spirit of Pride, and I tap down on my disquiet – I have to help. I don't really have a choice but to. I remove the familiar heavy weight of my sword from its scabbard and forgo my newly acquired dagger to grasp the larger weapon with both hands. I focus on the pain of the dark magic in my skin and try to remember the particular set of sensations that leads to that fervor Morrigan had helped discover I had. My world narrows in a red-tinged scope around that demonic spirit and as pain lances down my spine, I find myself suddenly _there_ with my blade buried deep into its grotesque purple flesh.

"Karie," Sloane wheezes and dodges around a swipe of the creature's large hand with a movement too quick for me to follow. I pull my blade up and out, feeling the wiry tissue give against the cut of steel and the sickening scrape of the sword's tip against the creature's bone reverberating down my arms. "This-" Sloane tries to speak to me again but is cut off when the spirit swipes at us both, me falling to my knees and crumpling against the dirt in a desperate attempt to avoid the hit, and Sloane scurrying backwards and swinging himself around with his blades brandished and ready to attack. "Blasted demon!" he growls and launches himself at the creature's leg while Randall's yipping proves to momentarily distract it.

A spirit born of rage bubbles out of the earth before me, between the Pride spirit's feet, with a plume of ash following it and obscuring my vision. The ash stings my eyes, and heat blossoms against my chest from where the creature has hit me. The stone against my armor melts and cracks against the fire and falls from my leathers to crumble into dust. The molten ill spirit laughs an unnatural sound and swipes one clawed hand at my chest again. I fall back on my ass, adrenaline coursing through my veins along with the blood magic feeding my strength, and I frantically kick up at its arm. It laughs again and lunges, but its tackle is blocked – blocked by _Sten_.

The qunari grunts in pain and pushes back against the spirit, his naked skin visibly blistered and cracked from the creature's fire-laced body. "Katara, Bas!" he shouts and takes the sword from my grip to pierce the spirit through its deformed head and ending its life in one swift move.

My heart rate spikes when I catch sight of the Pride spirit changing its focus to us now that its companion is dead, and it brings a fist right towards us. "Move!" I shout and push Sten aside with my blood magic augmented strength, throwing the seven-foot-something wall of muscle to the ground with a bright red flash of my markings bearing strength.

I can't catch the demonic spirit's hand though, knowing its far too much for the power afforded to me by those cultists now long dead, and lunge out of the way narrowly avoiding the hit. I dig my hands along the protrusions around its knuckles the second I'm on my feet, and struggle to draw its life's essence from the pit of its body. Spirits aren't _alive_ in the same way people, or even darkspawn, are, and so it seems the stronger the spirit, the more difficult it is to pull the life from it. A burning sensation matching the pulse of blood magic in my skin grows and wells in the bottom of my stomach to alight along my nerves and make me gasp out in pain. It _hurts –_ the struggle of fighting the spirit's energy with my own, and after a few short moments, the creature simply swats me away like a fly with a growl of fury for my efforts.

I shakily brandish my dagger, Sten still having my sword, and charge at the beast with a fervor twisting along my body and completely ignoring the pain of being tossed into the trees like I was nothing at all. There's a ringing in my head, but it's a distant thing compared to the disgust and hatred I feel for this creature and its kind. I look up mid-run and see Sloane has somehow managed to climb the creature like a tree, digging his blades into the base of the demonic spirit's skull. It cries out miserably then and brings its arms backwards, but is unable to reach Sloane and dislodge him from twisting his blades further into its flesh. It falls to a knee – Sten hacking away at the bleeding knee Sloane had dug his daggers into before with Randall aiding his efforts, and the mages throw a barrage of arcane energies and sharp boulders of stone at its vulnerable chest.

I finally reach the creature and help Sten and Randall further cripple its leg by cutting its skin open with my measly dagger and shoving my pulsing hand into the wound to feed off of the creature's pain and resume draining it of life. The ringing slows to a stop in my head, and I inhale deeply with the sensation of cool relief and coursing power while the creature weakens critically from the onslaught of our attacks.

The beast of pride then falls and dissolves into nothingness on the wake of its death.

Sloane crumples to his haunches on the illusionary forest floor as the creature fades away from him, and he visibly struggles to catch his breath. He swipes his long ichor-stained hair from his forehead with a shaking hand, his daggers at his feet, and looks up at me with hurt in the golden depths of his eyes. I scurry towards him, both pain and power blinking out of existence with the dimming of the ruddy tendrils in my skin, and pull him straighter with my hands fisting at his shoulders.

"Sloane?" I call to him with my worry leaking into my tone, "Are you okay?"

"You _fought_ ," he says and a little disbelieving chuckle bubbles from his throat. "Willingly. And you faired quite well," he smiles a bit and reaches out a hand to lay his sooty fingers against the swell of my cheek. "I am hale, dearest. You needn't worry for me."

"Um, Warden-Commander?" Someone squeaks out, and I turn with Sloane to see Liana, hand pressed against her still wounded shoulder, and now standing beside Sten who's still holding my sword, albeit shakily. "Your companion – he is injured."

"I am fit for battle yet, Bas Saarebas," Sten grumbles. He looks towards Sloane, "This is an illusion," he says. "This injury is not true."

"It still pains you," Sloane notes with a frown. Sten is burned along his right shoulder and arm – burned because he saved me from such an injury.

"I have a healing draught," Amell announces and chucks the bit of blown glass at the qunari who catches it smoothly before downing it and tossing the glass aside. The redness of his abused skin visibly lightens to a pinkish hue once the potion is drunk. He's still injured though.

"I will prepare another portal, ma'falonen," Aereweld comments and moves off to the side looking none the worse for wear.

My attention is drawn back towards Sten though when he speaks again. "You attack your enemies without fear, Bas Aqun-Athlok Sten," he says this while meeting my gaze steadily, and at first I'm confused. Sten has never said more than a handful of words to me, not that I've been overly friendly or communicable with him, but... he's complimenting me? Is that what this is? "Your abilities are commendable," he continues. "Should you choose to share your trade, Bas, I, Sten of the Beresaad, would honor the knowledge."

"You're..." my mind sputters while I try to make sense of his words. I stand slowly, helping Sloane to his feet while I do so, and continue to look at Sten with my brow furrowed in thought and my hand grasping at Sloane's. "You want to learn how to be a reaver?"

"Yes," the qunari says in his deep tones as if the very word is tiring to say.

I blink at him, and stutter, "I-I received my... my, um, trade from a... cult of blood mages," I feel Sloane's grip on my hand tighten reassuringly while the memory of waking to these markings comes to the forefront of my mind, "You remember them?" I ask tentatively. Sten was there – _I_ remember _him_. "They gave me these markings," I hold up my hand to draw attention to the lines coursing along my skin, "and they made me a reaver. I... don't know how to teach it."

"Hm," the qunari hums. "My request still stands – should you discover how to teach, I would learn."

"Alright," I say simply with my lips pressed together. I think this is the strangest conversation I've had with him, and that includes the time he came up to me and Leliana while we were chatting and asked us if we were women.

"Where are the Bas Aad?" Sten then questions with his gaze flickering around the area of burnt trees and trampled vegetation. It takes me an embarrassing moment to realize that he's asking after the remainder of our companions.

"We still need to find them," Sloane answers seemingly able to understand the qunari better than I can. "They too are trapped in dreams."

"This is no dream," he says severely and quiets as his gaze settles on the growing purple wall of light Aereweld's constructing with glowing hands. "That is how you travel."

"Yes," Sloane confirms with a short nod of his head. "We still have many to find, and then one troublesome Sloth demon to kill."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Katara, Bas! - Qunlat for 'die, thing!'
> 
> Bas Saarebas – non-qunari mage
> 
> ma'falonen – Elvish for 'my friends'
> 
> Bas Aqun-Athlok Sten – literally: non-qunari vanguard who was born one gender but lives as another. Bas meaning 'thing' used as a term to address non-qunari. Aqun-Athlok is a term used to address 'one who was born one gender but lives as another'. For qunari, women are not warriors. Qunari have distinctive male-female roles without exceptions.
> 
> Sten – the title of a qunari infantry platoon commander. Literally a vanguard
> 
> Beresaad – the title of a scouting company military unit comprised of qunari vanguards
> 
> Bas Aad – non-qunari military unit


	52. Chapter 52

" _We still have many to find..."_

* * *

I fist one hand around the pommel of my dagger and twist the fingers of my free-hand around the stiff leather of my belt in indecision – Sten still has my sword, and he doesn't look too ready to return it either. He doesn't have his armor or his sword here, in his dream. We've all come into possession of our weapons and armor, but not him. I can't quite shake the sinking suspicion that there's a reason for this, that something isn't not quite right here.

I close my eyes and focus on the ever present foreign sensations rolling through my skin – the blood magic I call mine, but is really its own presence existing within me – and search for anything that doesn't feel like it should. That extra sense of mine, of being able to stretch my feeling beyond myself, the one restricted to all things magical, I'm learning how to use it. I may have had this ability since the moment I woke up in that disgusting cabin, but only recently have I been able to make it out for what it is, given the state of the Circle – the horrible tear in the Veil making a mess of everything. I can't feel anything _wrong_ though. No shifting, no irregularities in the hum and flow of the Fade-air, and nothing that strikes me as odd, other than being in the Beyond like this in the first place. But I'm unpracticed at this, I'm a fucking novice at everything, and I can't trust myself in not knowing if there's really something out there.

"Karie," Sloane says quietly and I blink my eyes open to look at him with wariness pinching my lips thin. "What were you doing?" he asks.

"Where's Sten's sword?" I ask instead of answering while flicking my eyes to the broad back of the qunari near us. "I got my sword back when the spirit was killed, and he doesn't have his. His armor's gone too."

"He doesn't..." Sloane trails off, and I turn towards him to see his head held as if in thought, and the furrow between his brows, the one that irritates me a bit every time I see it, back on his face.

"I'm no expert on the Fade," Amell starts and interrupts us, obviously having been listening in on our conversation, "but I know everyone experiences their time here differently, and the dwarves only go here if forced. Maybe the big guys are just different, and the sword thing is just him." Amell shrugs, "I had my staff first off. I don't really think it's anything to be concerned with overmuch."

My pinched lips turn into a frown, "I don't like it."

"Oh," Amell frowns now too, "'I don't like it', is right up there with 'what's the worse that can happen'. I've read enough books to know how things like this go, bar any fighting experience outside the Circle, you know." He sniffles, "This just reeks of a bad omen now."

"I will keep my eye on him," Liana offers tentatively. "If you wish, Warden-Commander. I can do as much," she finishes while shifting her weight and leaning lightly on her staff.

"Why?" Sloane asks the woman. "What do you think is wrong with Sten?" he asks, having read more into her words than, at least, than I did.

Liana looks towards her feet a bit shyly, "It is possible a demon has taken interest in him. I am not very much certain, but... I know some of the blood mages I was... I was with had tried to force a demon into possession of a non-mage host. There was a Templar. Edmond had said there was a demon that had agreed to try it with him."

"What happened to the Templar fellow?" Amell gapes.

Liana looks towards him with sorrow deeply etched into her expression, "He did not live."

"And this demon," Sloane says slowly, "could be affecting Sten? Making it so he doesn't have a sword?"

"It might be challenging him," Liana says around a sad little hiccup. "The Templar was crazed. He was fighting himself until he fell upon his own sword." She swipes one rolling tear off her cheek, "Edmond said the demon was testing his fitness. But it was not right," she scrubs at her face with her free hand, "I did not want to be there. I did not want to see that. I did not want to hurt anyone. But Edmond, he... he was _evil_. He was the most bad, evil, evil person I have ever seen. He _lied_ ," she says the word as if it was something dirty, "he lied so, so very much."

"He's dead though. I saw his neck completely sliced open," Amell says, though I think he's trying to be comforting. It's a little morbid, but seems to help as Liana nods her head in his direction.

"Milady," Sloane turns towards her, "I would appreciate it if you could keep a watch on our qunari companion. You seem to be most knowledgeable in these matters," he says kindly with a small smile.

Liana seems to pull herself straighter with a little lightness returning to her eyes. "I will do so, Warden-Commander."

Everything makes me feel a little bit better too, and I lean towards Sloane while we all take our turns going through Aereweld's, now finished, portal. "You've been nice to Liana," I say. "Thank you."

He shrugs a bit, nearly bashfully, I could swear, "I know you care for all the sad lots we come across. It's no trouble. And if something is the matter with Sten," he continues a bit more seriously, "I do believe she is the best person to know if something goes awry with him, given her particular knowledge." I know he's chosen his words carefully, and I can't help but smile a bit at him even at this small show of kindness.

I've been learning more than I first gave myself credit for before, since once I cross through to the next plane Aereweld has set for us to travel, that nausea and batch of nasty sensations that welcomes me with traveling in the Beyond, is a dull sensation that I can actually, mostly, push aside. This new place, it's in a building of some kind. There's smooth tiles of stone beneath my feet, bricks of the same kind of stone set into the walls, and thick banisters and slats of wood making up the celling. Torches lick at the stone walls in regular intervals and stain the silvery bricks in black soot all around them. There's nothing on the floors, nothing on the walls, but when I turn around in the hall I see a heavy tapestry hanging a few steps away. The embroidery is foreign to me, and the heraldry means nothing to me. Sometimes I wonder if this brief sensation of unfamiliarity, of confusion, will follow me around wherever I go in Thedas.

"The Arl of Denerim's estate," Sloane breathes. There's a look there on his face, and it's something unreadable but terrible all the same. It's like the teasing humor he had cloaked himself with when I first met him, and later the kindness and concern I found in him once I really got to know him are far and distant things. There's secrets there pooling in the depths of his eyes and a tightness in the set of his shoulders and jaw. He looks hard. He looks like a faceless soldier. Like a nameless Grey Warden.

And then I remember.

I remember those early conversations I had with him on what I knew of himself, and of his family. He had told me his betrothed was killed by the Arl of Denerim's son. I don't know why he told me that then, when we barely knew each other. Maybe he just had to tell someone willing to listen. Regardless, Shianni was raped, I know that much, but I didn't think anyone had died on his supposed wedding day, expect possibly that noble bastard and his friends. There's differences in this place. Everywhere I go it seems things don't always match up with what I know happens here during the Blight, but those things are not the same in the way a foreign unfamiliarity creeps up on me while I look towards Sloane. I've never seen him look so unlike himself.

"Why are we here?" Amell asks and breaks me out of the fog I had slipped into.

"One of your companions is here, shemlen," Aereweld answers with a tug on her cloak's hood, knowing her covering a roll of her eyes. "I believe them to be nearby."

"Where?" Sten prompts while still clutching my sword in a fist that dwarfs the metal. The qunari looks ever the same, except maybe his mouth is pulled a little too tight to be normal for him.

"I will show you where I believe they are," she says and pivots on her heel to better face me. "Lethallan," she calls to me. "Na vhenan'ara. Ashi isala halani." I raise a brow at her, but she just flicks her wrist at me in a shooing motion. Aereweld knows Sloane from when our minds held melded together, but she also knows what he means to me based on our two other shared experiences in the Beyond. She calls him my heart's desire because that's what he is, and I can't deny it either, just like I can't deny that she's right about him too. She had said that he needs help, and if the bodiless elvhen woman can tell that much, then Sloane must _really_ look off.

I hang back while the others start to trail off after Aereweld and Sten, even with Randall giving Sloane a low whine before trotting away.

"Sloane," I call to him with uncertainty coloring my voice. I'm not quite sure what to say to him with him like this. "This is a dream," I remind him quietly. "Nothing's real. It's all spirits trying get to us."

"I know," he says and closes his eyes briefly before looking towards me. I don't like that look in those eyes of his. I can't quite describe it, but it just doesn't look like him. "But why would one of our fellows have a nightmare here of all places?"

"They could be targeting you," I offer as an explanation after a moment's thought. "They probably know we're here. They might know you're here."

He sighs and rubs the heels of his hands against his eyes. "If the Fade is always like this, then I'm glad I can't remember my dreams after waking."

"I don't know if it is," I say and slowly reach out to slide my hand in his with the callouses of his fingertips tickling against the length of my fingers. "We need to catch up to the others."

He nods on a long exhale and squeezes my fingers back a bit while his expression thaws some. "I'd like to find the demon who'd thought it was a grand idea to construct this place, and then stab it through the heart, you know, just to let it know how much I appreciate being here again," he says with an edge of dark humor.

We find the others just before they descend down a dark staircase with the celling here severely arched and completely made of stone. The steps are wooden though, and they creek something awful with each step. I'm kinda done with nightmares myself. Seconds pass, and then we're in a fairly open space lined with cells of wrought iron and bits of straw scattered along the floor from the dirty pallets in the cells we pass. This place, heavy with the stench of mildew and dirt, reminds me of the dungeons bellow Redcliffe, and I think briefly for a moment that this might be Jowan's nightmare because of it, until I spy a familiar flash of ginger hair in the torchlight – Leliana.

"Mother?" I slide to a stop at Sloane's softly uttered word. He sounded... horrified. "Maker," he breathes in a shaky breath, and I turn to see him staring with that unfamiliar expression firmly in place at an older woman with dark, tawny skin and sun-bleached hair piled high on her head. She steps further into the torchlight, and I can make out delicately pointed ears and... striking hazel-gold eyes. Sloane's eyes.

She... she, no _it_ , _it_ doesn't feel right – it feels _wrong_ , and my markings flash in warning. "Sloane," I snap and feel panic lancing my heart while I pull at Sloane's hand when he takes a step towards the spirit playing a woman. _Sloane's mother_ , my mind whispers at me.

I yell his name again when he takes another step towards the spirit, and he manages to pry his hand from mine. "Mother," he sounds lost, so lost. "They already used your image against me," he says, "I had not thought to see you again."

He takes another step towards the creature, and I just... I loose all sense of myself. I'm blinded by so much red, by the familiar painful sensation of my markings coming to life and the pang of the ring on my thumb, and then I'm _there –_ I'm between Sloane and the spirit wearing his mother's face, and my dagger is buried through the soft underside of its chin. Dark ichor, not blood, oozes down my hand while I'm wrenched painfully backwards by the shoulder. My blade's stuck in the body as it collapses on the grimy floor, and that's the last I pay it any attention before I'm face-to-face with Sloane.

He looks... God, he's not unreadable anymore. _He's furious_. He looks so angry and so, so upset, and he's squeezing my shoulder _hard_ even with my armor and the splotches of stone still adhered to the leather.

" _Why did you do that_?" He hisses, and I feel tears spring unbidden to my eyes at the tone of his voice. I have _never_ heard him speak to me like that, even when I've pissed him off before. "Why, Karie?" he squeezes tighter, " _Why?_ "


	53. Chapter 53

" _Why, Karie?" he squeezes tighter, "Why?"_

* * *

I wonder if this will be one of those things that will haunt me to my grave... The sight of a kindly weathered woman's face with the light blinking out of her horribly familiar eyes. The demonic ichor staining my hand as I drive my dagger into her head. The feeling of her flesh and bone's resistance against my blade tingling along my palm. And then Sloane bristling with rage and hate, his hand digging into the sharp jut of my shoulder, his own shoulders set back tempering what, I don't want to find out, and his face – creased and pinched and eyes narrowed and so, so angry in his pain. He's hurt. I hurt him.

I think this is the first time I've been honestly afraid of him, and afraid of what I'd done to him.

Out of everyone I'd found myself in the company of, the only one I'd ever entertained the idea of willingly harming me was Sten, and not even Morrigan with her spite and bitter words crossed my radar as a threat. Sloane though, here tricked and played with by dark denizens of the Beyond, and weak and vulnerable because of it, _here_ he is a threat. In this moment he is not the Sloane I've come to know and care for, but rather he is a wounded thing – as much an animal hurt and fierce.

And he's leveled his pain at me – made me out as the one who'd hurt him.

God, I've hurt him, haven't I?

But it's the Beyond, not me. The spirits toyed with him, and us all. What would've happened if I hadn't shoved my dagger through the jaw of the monster playing the part of his mother? His soul was at risk, and I'd acted on impulse. The thought of pulling my dagger free and killing the creature hadn't even consciously registered in my mind before I'd done it.

I look at him, and my lips part with unspoken entreaties. I'm frozen in fear and shock over it all. There's just _so_ many thoughts swimming around in my skull, but nothing makes it to my tongue. What can I possibly say to him? What can I possibly do? That spirit's whispers clouded his mind so quickly – I wasn't fast enough. The blood magic in my skin wasn't enough to spare him this pain. And now I have this, _this_ angry man crowding my space and demanding answers I can't make myself speak.

He thinks I killed his mother. He thinks I fucking murdered her.

_I'm not a murderer._

" _Karie_." He growls my name and the sound of it echoes through my skull.

"She wasn't real," I squeak out with the words all jumbled together with my building panic. I frantically search for something, _anything_ , that I can say that'd make sense of what I did. "That was a spirit. She woulda hurt you if I hadn't-"

" _Lies!_ " He hisses while he squeezes my shoulder harder and pushes on me until I'm leaning back on my heels and his chest is pushed against mine. "Mother would _never_ bring me harm." I watch his lips as he speaks and I can _feel_ the hate embedded into every syllable. I struggle to blink back tears, and a helpless little sound bubbles out of my throat. It might have been a word, but I haven't any idea what I would say.

"By Mythal," Aereweld sighs and then she's there beside us, her green-inked hand snaking around Sloane's wrist heedless of the thunderous look he sends her way. "We have been through this before, ashi a'dorf." She pulls her deep hood back far enough to stare Sloane directly in the eyes, "You remember when I found you here in the Beyond, falon? Yes? Those spirits using the image of this woman to break you?" Aereweld points at the slowly dissipating body of the spirit still cloaked as Sloane's mother, and I see his golden eyes flick in that direction. As soon as his gaze settles on it, the unnatural body I can still _feel_ floating behind me, Sloane flinches. The shock settles over him, and even his pointed ears twitch with the jarring movement.

Aereweld continues to drive home the truth, and doesn't event give him a moment to speak, "Desire fooled you once, ashi, it is dishonorable to _allow_ it to fool you again." She takes a quick breath and steps closer to him with her hand still wrapped around his, "I do not know you well, ma'falon, but you strike me as someone more formidable than this." She lays her other hand on my shoulder, beside Sloane's hand where he's still gripping it painfully. "Now release her. Ar'din nuvenin ma'lin. She only did what was needed."

"I-" Sloane starts but abruptly snaps his mouth shut. So slowly I watch as the cloak of anger and pain starts to unravel around him, and I feel his hand loosen against me with its loss. "You are telling me that this... was another illusion," he speaks the words quietly and devoid of all malice. "But, I saw-" Sloane's gaze flicks past me again and I see it when understanding and memory lifts the fog from his eyes. He looks like someone's slapped him when he suddenly stumbles back from me. "Maker preserve me, I-" he meets his eyes to mine again, and there's a sadness in those depths now. And shame, bright in his gaze. "Forgive me, Karie. You did me a service, and I," he looks startled for a moment as the thought takes him, and his breath hitches in his chest, "...I should have _known_." He shakes his head.

He's standing there, riddled with shame and the vestiges of his pain, and I haven't _moved_.

A heartbeat passes, and then he's turned away from me and walking away with only the sound of the scattered bits of straw on the floor crunching under his booted feet. I look to Aereweld, helpless, and somehow managing to feel like the biggest idiot I've ever been. What happened?

I didn't even know I spoke those words until I see Aereweld shake her head just slightly while righting the hood on her head.

What did I do?

Unnameable emotions roll through me, and I turn towards Sten, desperate and unsure, but remarkably remembering there's a reason we're here at the edges of my sense. "Sten," I call to the qunari with my voice small and harsh, and I clear my throat before continuing. "Can you get Leliana, I-" I choke on my words, but the man nods his assent all the same. I'm not even given the grace of a moment to wonder at the novelty of my addressing the qunari without prompt, before I'm walking down the illusionary rows of cells in the direction Sloane took off in.

I find him with his arm braced against the wall and his shoulders slumped. He's not making a sound or moving save for the breaths he takes, but when my feet scuff against the stone I see his bared fingers flex with repressed movement.

What is he thinking?

Usually I'm awkward as all hell nearly my every waking moment, but I've found that when the situation is charged with emotion or difficult beyond what I could have imagined, that brain of mine kicks into gear and words wise beyond my years flow freely past my lips. I found that out the hard way, years ago, and I've come to expect bits of insight to form into clarity within my mind when that spike of emotionally charged adrenaline fills my heart. I feel it now, that sensation of my heart lodging at the base of my neck and fine nervous tremors snaking up my arms, but I'm not given that feeling of everything just clicking into place in my head and answers coming to my mind. Instead, I've flashed back to when I first discovered my talent for perception with heightened emotions.

It was my sophomore year at university, and I was home, finishing up a chem lab report when my father comes over and tells me my mother, his wife of twenty-five years, cheated on him. He was out of breath, like he'd just run a marathon, and he looked so... horrified. That look of his, on an otherwise happy and easy going guy, _that_ is one of those things that will haunt me to my grave. The following conversation with him was just one of many I personally sought to mediate between my parents, if only for the sake of my sisters not having to witness those arguments themselves, or to have my parents' problems infringe on their teenage lives any more than what couldn't have been avoided. A part of me, probably larger than I would admit, is still flummoxed on how my mother could do that, not only to my father but to our _family_ , and the family and wife of the man she'd pursued.

She had explained her motivations to me as well as she could, several times on my asking, and her reasons were entirely selfish. I'd felt utterly ashamed on her behalf, since it seemed she didn't, or wasn't able, to be for her own sake.

My mind flashes again, to the moment where I'd convinced my dad to hand me the gun he'd held in his mouth.

My heart clenches painfully, and I bring a hand up to rub at my chest as if to physically stem the feeling. My father's an emotional creature, and so, not for the first time, I've wondered at _how_ he'd taken my disappearance in the night, when I was dragged to Thedas against my will. I worry at that – what could've happened. How long it took for them all to realize I was gone. What happened when I was discovered to be missing. What my family and friends felt and thought with so many unanswered questions.

That moment of clarity comes to my mind, at last.

"Sloane," I nearly whisper his name while I curl my arms around my middle. "When your mom," I stop and take a breath, "when your mother... died, back in the real world, did you see it?"

Silence is my answer, and so I continue with my thought, "My father almost killed himself," I tell him, "He, he tried, but my mother got me, brought me to him, asked me to tell him not to do it. She told me he'd listen to me. She told me he wouldn't listen to her." I hiccup a breath, helpless to the emotions coursing through my mind and flowing through my mouth now without a filter. "And he listened to me," I say, quietly. "That thing, that wasn't your mom. I would _never_ hurt you like that. Believe me. _Please_. I wouldn't- I couldn't-"

"Karie," he breathes my name, still facing towards the wall. "I know you would never intentionally do something so horrendous, but at the time," he pauses. "The demon pushed those reassurances away. It made me believe you were capable of..." He sighs a long, drawn out sound. "What I believed does not excuse my behavior," and here he lowers his arm and turns partially towards me. I can't gauge his thoughts, his emotions, because he's shrouded in shadow. "I am the one that should be begging forgiveness, love, not you. You're not the one who'd erred here."

I blink at him owlishly. He's trying to... apologize?

Why?

A throaty sound of frustration and bewilderment bubbles out of me, and I impulsively take the handful of steps up to the silly, silly, _wonderful_ , stupid man and throw my arms around his shoulders before I can over think the whole thing. " _Fucking Jesus Almighty_ ," I curse into his shoulder. "I was the one trying to say sorry. Even if that wasn't real, what you thought you saw-"

"Shh," he hushes and lifts his hands tentatively to settle along my spine, "How about we both agree to forgive one another for what had just transpired?"

"Okay," I say on an exhale before tilting my head to better look at him. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, Karie," he angles his head down to face me, "I'm far better now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> ashi a'dorf – literally: man of the grey. Non-canonical Dalish term for addressing Grey Wardens. (if anyone knows of a canon phrase/word, please let me know)
> 
> ma'falon – my friend
> 
> Ar'din nuvenin ma'lin – I don't want your blood. Here used as a cautionary warning and not threatening.


	54. Chapter 54

Leliana took everything fairly well, considering that we found her dirty, exhausted, and locked up in a tiny cell that stank of piss and rot. Not a real dungeon cell, but I could imagine it's something very close to what she was in at one time. She looked positively _relieved_ just before stepping into Aereweld's newest portal. Morrigan, well, she was furious to say the least. I'd thought Amell had fared the best until that point, and then we found the witch scratching glyphs into the dirt on the ground with the ichor of the spirits she'd slain, muttering under her breath, and claiming she'd nearly succeeded in disturbing the Beyond enough for her get to a place where she could navigate it freely, until we'd interrupted her, of course.

But when we found Alistair, it nearly broke my heart.

It was different, of course it was, nearly everything was, then what I'd known it to be. No picturesque family scene with children bounding about and a grinning sister playing the part of a perfect hostess. A spirit of despair had a hand in this, it must. I'd felt the same clawing chill as I did with the last of its ilk I'd run into upon entering this place. It was distinctly different from the swelling sensations I've come to associate with being in the Beyond. Alistair... He's weeping over the broken and bloodied bodies of children scattered around in an utterly destroyed mess of a house. There is a woman with strawberry colored hair matted to her broken scalp taking her last, rattling breaths, half-curled over in a nearby rocking chair, and all the while Alistair has a bleeding infant in his lap while he's crying helplessly.

But we can't get to him. There's a barrier here, like there was for me and for Randall. We're all taking shots at the shimmering surface, but it just won't _break_. Even Liana is launching bolts of arcane energy from the tip of her staff at the thing, to no avail.

"Oh, but the demon at work here must be powerful," Morrigan mutters irritably. "I wish to be gone of this place. We must find a weakness."

I switch my dagger between my hands and lay my freed palm on the semi-transparent wall and push against it with my fingertips, as if I were pushing against stone. The surface is cold, cold like ice but it's not. Amell's flames do nothing against it. And then I remember something – that my markings act weird and strong with blood magic, and I have the thought that just maybe they'll act different enough to make a difference against this barrier, for Alistair's sake. I can't take hearing his sobs anymore; it's one of the worst sounds ever.

"Liana," I call after her with no small amount of hesitance. I'm not sure how she'll take my request. I know Jowan's amendable to it since he's done it before, but Liana... She's so shaken from everything... "My marking react with blood magic," I tell her and hesitantly meet my gaze to hers. "Could you," I take a quick breath, "take some of my blood? Either of us should be able to break this thing if you do." It could go either way – it could make me stronger, or her. I still don't quite have the best grasp on what my blood magic can, or will, do, but I know it gave both me and Jowan an edge the few times he's used my blood. It gave him the power to enter the Beyond, once, and it had given me the power to slay countless darkspawn. Jowan's used my blood to heal himself from the verge of wasting away too, and maybe here somehow it can be used by Liana to shatter this barrier.

I am not afraid of the pain, or the unknown. It's all I've been surrounded by since I've woken here. It's what's kept me alive, and allowed me to see to my friends' safeties. And here, Alistair needs our help, and we have to get out of here.

Liana takes a startled breath with her eyes widening enough to fall out of her skull, and I know I've made a mistake in asking her. I _know_ she'd felt forced into blood magic, and didn't make the choice in the same way Jowan did. Jowan's embraced his path, and Liana's still afraid of what she's done. Her expression pinches and she frowns, "I will not use blood magic. I made a promise. I am sorry, my friend. It is too... too, too much. I will not do such a thing."

"So eager to take to the forbidden arts," Morrigan sniffles disdainfully. I have made it no secret that I am not afraid of blood magic. I am perhaps one step away from a maleificar myself, being a product of a dark ritual or two. I probably should be afraid, and it's strange that I'm not, though. Being that magic in itself is so surreal.

Morrigan speaks again, and derails my train of thought, "What of your elven friend? Can she not manipulate this barrier as she has manipulated the Fade to her will for travel?"

"I am no true somniari," Aereweld says with her lips pinched thin and her eyes glittering beneath her heavy hood. "Powerful spirits pose challenges to me as they do others. I cannot disrupt their will merely with my own."

Morrigan snorts and turns to glare holes into the barrier without bothering to offer any more of her two cents.

"Are magical means our only option here? Will brute force not work for this one?" Sloane asks aloud to no one in particular.

"Brute force..." Amell mulls over the word before suddenly brightening, "I have an idea!" He declares before lifting his staff to slam it against the ground with a bright green light emanating out in small waves. The illusionary ground starts to crack and crumble, and the waves threaten to knock us all off our feet. Craters form in the dirt, and Amell pokes the end of his staff into one with a scowl quickly overtaking his features, "Well, that damned well didn't work. The barrier extends underground." His free hand lifts up in exasperation, "I'm out of bloody ideas!"

The hand of mine that was laying against the barrier curls into a loose fist and I close my eyes with the effort of drowning out Alistair's cries. How can we come this far and face a dead end? We have to get Alistair out of there.

"What if we found the demon?" Sloane asks aloud again, "If we ended it, would the barrier not lift?"

"The demon is likely on the other side of the barrier," Amell grumbles. "They hide if they can, since they're skittish buggers. They don't like confrontation. Too risky to come right out like that, you see."

"They toy with people," Liana says softly. "The stronger the demon, the stronger its sense of self-preservation. The weaker ones will fight viscously, but the others lay in wait."

I huff a sound of frustration and bang that fist I'd made against the barrier. Sparks fly at the hard contact and they burn my hand. I hiss an involuntary sound of pain, and watch while my markings blink and shutter a red light until the burning sensation slowly ebbs away. They hurt, but they heal. The healing abilities of a reaver make it so I can't easily be hurt... damaged. I'm just a weapon to be used.

I look at the enchanted ring sitting on my thumb, and in my building annoyance I rip it off and stuff it into my breast band at the edge of where my tunic meets my chestplate. Maybe I shouldn't temper my abilities. Maybe I should just _be_ the weapon used against the barrier, and at least _try_. We're running out of ideas quick, and I just don't know what else to do.

The sensations of the web of blood magic coming to life in my skin without anything to subdue the force of them – _and how did I forget what this felt like so quickly_ – hits me like a sledgehammer. Red is clawing around the edges of my vision, and sound echoes through my ears so much that I don't know if the noise is in my head or not. Consuming blackness encroaches the red, and I come back to myself, to a vision of chaos.

The bodies of children are twisted with the visage of the undead. Their bones are broken and their limbs hang useless at their sides as they crawl over each other with their mouths hanging unnaturally wide. There's the sounds of battle – war cries, the _shing_ of steel, and groans of pain and exertion. I blink through the haze with my head pounding with the effort, and somehow I find out I've ended up face-first on a packed dirt floor of a room. This must be the other side of the barrier then. I guess as much because there's bits of broken furniture within arm's reach splattered with blood and ichor alike.

I hear distant words that make no sense, another language maybe, and while I'm struggling to sit up I see Liana between Sten and a gigantic spirit of rage. The spirit towers above them both as a pinnacle of flame, and Liana's hands start to surround with a smoky orange-violet halo of magic. The spirit bellows a wordless cry while the edges of Liana's long robes and the brown bob of her ponytail start to float and flutter in an unnatural wind. Bits of dirt and debris get caught up in the well of gravity surrounding her, and time just seems to... stand still for a moment. There's this wiry woman, timid enough that she would jump at her own shadow, holding her own against a huge monster made of lava and fire with a wall of a man holding a sword at her back and acting the part of her protector, and I'm just... stunned with a mixture of confusion and awe. The purple and orange clouds of magic snake up Liana's arms before they suddenly snap and race out towards the corrupted spirit. The creature cries out in anguish while the streams of arcane energy surge into its torso. Black fissures start to form and crack its body, and the spirit claws helplessly at the cracks before it swells and explodes in a shower of hot rock.

I curl up on my side in an effort to avoid the spray of stone, but I keep my gaze fixed on Liana and Sten in budding worry for their safety. I watch as Sten swings his large arms around the mage, and curls himself around her to protect her similarly to how he'd done for me against a rage spirit.

My eyes had blinked closed sometime between watching my companions and flinching against the bits of rock landing all around me, and when I open them I see Sten clothed back in his padded vest with his greatsword on his back. My confusion bubbles up again, but I'm not given any more time to figure out what's going on before those children – those very dead children – are on me. They've noticed I'm conscious, at least, or maybe they thought I was dead until now, but they pad over towards me with the fangs of demons in their mouths and the disjointed movements of the possessed.

An arrow with white fletching pierces the forehead of one, and it crumples in on itself before slowly fading into the ether of the Beyond. I look over my shoulder to see Leliana stepping out of a shadow with her bow held firmly in her grasp. She looses another arrow, and I struggle to push myself backwards against the wall beside me. I fumble for the hilt of the dagger in my belt before fishing out the ring I'd tucked into my shirt. I need those enchantments now and the clarity they bring, because I can't afford to overwhelm myself and blackout again.

The first one, a boy of about seven or eight with deadened eyes and razors for teeth, rushes me and my dagger slides with little resistance through the thin bone of its skull. My heart hammers in my chest with a surge of adrenaline, and a small voice whispers at me ' _they're children_ ', ' _they're kids'_ but I struggle to ignore that voice in my head and kick the next demonic child in the gut. It falls back into another, their useless arms tangling with dead weight. An arrow hits one clean through the neck while a second jumps at me. I push at the child's shoulders while it snaps at my face like a rabid dog. Aereweld's knowledge flows through me and I act as if all that battle prowess were my own. The dagger shifts through my fingers in an effortless movement before I jerk my wrist and embed the bit of metal at the junction of the demonic child's neck and shoulder. I wrench the metal free and pay little mind to the pull of muscle and skin against the blade before I lift my hand and jab it into the blackened hollow of the child's eye. It cries out and flails in the throws of death while the dark ichor of its essence slicks my fingers. The last is disposed of just as easily.

I frantically search for the rest of our companions, and I finally see them at the other end of the dark room battling ice, not fire, with the glowing blue of frost magic chasing the shadows from them.

That spirit of despair I'd felt earlier? Those cries... I was right about it.

I turn back to look to Leliana, but she's gone. Liana and Sten are running into the thick of it, but where's Alistair?

I switch my dagger to my other hand, and I wipe the demonic blood still coating my fingers onto the bit of my leggings exposed at the joint of my knee. I press against the wall until the cold is seeping into my back, and I flick my eyes and frantically search every darkened spot in the room. I see a bit of blond hair flash in the shadows and I squint until I can make out just the barest hint of Alistair's broad silhouette. I look back towards the others quickly to see them still holding their own, and I make up my mind to go to my friend. If the others need my help, I'll go to them in a heartbeat.

I switch my dagger to my other hand, Sten still having my sword, and brace my back against the wall while I struggle to get my feet underneath me. I crouch a bit and try to be as quiet as possible while I slowly pick my way through the room. There may still be walking corpses and spirits hiding in the shadows. I finally get close enough to Alistair where I can hear his muffled shuttering sobs, and inch my way the rest of the distance with care in every step.

I crouch on my haunches when I'm about a foot away from Alistair, and he hasn't even noticed that I've approached him. A frown creases my face, and I finally decide to call out to him, instead of touch him. I'm not sure how he'll react to someone imposing on his space while he's like this.

"Alistair," I whisper. He's still crying, and so I try again, a little louder this time, " _Alistair_."

He gasps and his body tightens while his head snaps up. "K-karie?" He stutters. "Are," he swallows, "You're real?"

I nod, but that doesn't seem to be good enough. "Did you see the demons?" I ask.

"Templars are trained to resist temptation and corruption," he says by way of explanation. "I tried to fight them when I noticed something wasn't right," he admits in a low voice. He's the one that killed the children? Killed the spirit playing his sister? "But they manipulated that," he raises his hands to his forehead before scrubbing his hands through his greasy hair, "I'd thought I'd gone mad." the tone of voice is all wrong, like he still believes that.

I reach out to him then, and lay a hand against his wrist. "You're not," I say. "This is all a nightmare," I squeeze his wrist reassuringly, "We can still get out of here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a beta for this story/verse now! Spirit09 over on FF.net has given this chapter a much needed face-lift. Be sure to give her thanks for all the awesome, readers! :D


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